


Ghosts of Future Past

by indiefic



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Peggy Carter and Skinny Steve totally had a thing, Peggy Carter as Captain America, Peggy and Steve grew up together, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 11:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4827035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain America, Peggy Carter, is doing her damnedest to salvage SHIELD when the Winter Soldier is sent in to take her out of the picture.  There's just one problem.  He knows her.  And she knows him.  She's with Steve Rogers to the end of the line.</p><p>Multiple flashbacks to Peggy, Steve and Bucky growing up together in Brooklyn and fighting together in the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's teen for now, but I'm writing it, so it's going to get explicit at some point.

The kick landed, sending shockwaves up her leg.  As if in slow motion, Peggy watched the faceplate roll away.  He stumbled, catching himself and turned back to her, knife in hand.  

 

She looked at his face.  Everything stopped.  

 

“Steve?”  

 

He looked at her, brow furrowed.  “Who the fuck is Steve?”  He lunged for her, grabbing her.

 

She needed to defend herself.  He slammed her back against the van so hard her teeth clacked together and she saw stars.  She waited, waited for the knife, an elbow to the throat, anything.  But he just held her there.  He was holding her at his eye level, so her toes could barely scrape the pavement.  

 

He was breathing hard, his fingers biting deeply into her upper arms.  He shook her, shoving her back against the van again.  “Who are you?”  She could see him fighting for something that was just out of reach.  He frowned, shaking his head sharply.  “I know you.”

 

“ _Steve_ ,” she said again, pleading.  She wanted to reach out to him, but the way he was holding her arms, she couldn’t.

 

There was a hail of gunfire and he rolled away.  Sam stepped in front of her.   “You okay, Cap?”

 

She nodded.  She looked.  Steve was nowhere to be seen.  

 

Sirens were blaring.  Peggy looked across the street and saw Natasha leaning heavily against the back of an SUV.  She’d been hit.  As she and Sam stood there, blacked out SUVs screeched to a halt around them in a circle.  A news helicopter hovered overhead.

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy stood, watching the doctor patch up Natasha.  She could feel Fury’s gaze at her back, but she did not want to talk to him.  Of all his lies, this might very well be the one she could not forgive.

 

Steve was alive.  

 

He looked different.  His hair was buzzed ruthlessly short, making it look darker than it actually was.  He had a full beard, also dark, though she’d never seen Steve with facial hair.  Maybe that’s just what it looked like.  But his eyes.  Goddamn his eyes.  She would know him anywhere.

 

“If it’s any consolation,” Fury said quietly.  “I didn’t know about Rogers.”

 

“Save it,” Peggy snapped.  It made no difference if it was true and if it was a lie, it was just another reason to hate Fury.  She took a deep breath.  “He knew me,” she said quietly.  “I don’t think he knew himself.  But he knew me.”

 

Fury sighed heavily.  “You two were close, right?  In the war.”

 

“Yeah,” she said tightly.  “We were close.  Erskine’s two successes.”

 

“Adam and Eve.”  He chuckled.  “Peggy and Steve.”

 

She shook her head in disgust, turning to face him.  “It wasn’t a structured breeding program,” she said bitterly.  “We were soldiers.  Erskine escaped the Nazis.  He wasn’t trying to perfect their master race.”

 

Fury arched an eyebrow.  “Either way, you two were close.  Are you going to be able to end him, if it comes to that?”

 

“It won’t come to that,” she said.

 

* * *

 

 

She stood on top of the spillway, looking out at nothing.  Steve was out there, somewhere.  Being _handled_ , being brainwashed and tortured.  He’d known her on the street.  They’d make sure to get rid of that.  Hydra assets as valuable as the Winter Soldier weren’t allowed to have human connections.  They’d burn it out of him.

 

They’d try anyway.

 

She hadn’t seen him in seventy years and he recognized her.  How many times had he been wiped, frozen?  How many times had they tried to take him out and shove something else in?  But he’d known her.

 

He would know her again.

 

* * *

 

Peggy cracked her eyes open and saw Sam sitting next to the hospital bed.

 

“Hey, Cap,” he said leaning forward, smiling.  “Welcome back.”

 

Skull fracture, crushed orbital bone, cracked vertebrae, broken wrist, broken tibia, torn ACL in her left leg, crushed right ankle.  She and Fury could play massive bodily trauma bingo.  She was fairly sure she would win, though she did still have two eyes, so maybe not.

 

SHIELD was gone.  Hydra was ... not gone.  Despite their best efforts, Peggy knew it was going to take more than taking out Pierce and the Insight helicarriers.  They were rooted too deep in too many organizations across the globe.  It was going to be a long haul.

 

They’d found her on the shore of the Potomac.  No one said anything, but she suspected they all knew.  She didn’t drag herself out of the water in that state.  He did.  Steve did.  He swore he didn’t remember her, that she was his mission and he would kill her.  But he saved her.  She doubted she’d saved him.

 

She had no idea where he might be.  Hopefully Hydra was damaged deeply enough that his handlers were too busy saving their own asses to worry about him.  She hoped he got away.  Seventy years of having people digging around in his head.  She had no idea what he might do, who he might become, if left to his own devices.  But she had faith.  She always had faith in him.

 

She was in the hospital for five days.  According to the doctors, it should have been five months, but thanks to the serum, she didn’t have to worry about that.  She was still sore, beat up and exhausted.  But her headaches were down to manageable levels and her ankle was mostly healed.  Her wrist still gave her twinges, but she knew it would be better in a week or two.

 

She didn’t go back to her apartment.  It wasn’t home.  It had never been home.  Tim, her neighbor, turned out to be Jack Thompson, a SHIELD agent assigned to her by Fury.  That was just the last in a long line of straws.  She packed up her things and headed to New York.  She couldn’t really afford Brooklyn, but she figured Tony owed her.  He could front the money for a small place.  She’d pay him back.  Maybe.  If he wasn’t a complete prick about it.

 

There were depressingly few possessions to worry about.  Sam helped her pack up the handful of boxes and then drove her to New York in his truck.  She didn’t miss the irony that of all of her teammates, co-workers, whatever you wanted to call them, Sam was the one she knew the least and trusted the most.  He was a solid guy.  They were surprisingly hard to come by these days.

 

He set the last box on the dinged up little coffee table - the apartment came furnished.  “You sure you want to do this?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” she said wearily.  “It’s time for a new start.”  She laughed mirthlessly.  “I don’t know what it’s going to be, but sometimes the only option is to press on.”

 

He nodded.  “Natasha testifies tomorrow.”

 

Peggy sighed, sinking into the recliner.  “I know.”  She looked at Sam.  “She’ll be fine.  She’s been working up to this her entire life.  It’s time she came clean.  For herself.”

 

Sam didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue.  He’d undoubtedly seen trauma of every possible variety in his line of work.  He understood that people processed in their own ways.  She wondered what he thought of her process, but quickly decided she didn’t want to know.

 

He looked around.  “Are you going to be okay?” he asked.  “I mean, you’re still hobbling around.”

 

“I’ll be right as rain in a day or two,” she said.

 

He shook his head in mock disgust.  “Must be nice.”

 

She shrugged.  “How wrong does it sound for me to say that it would be nice if something left a scar every now and then?”

 

He just watched her.  “That’s just your truth, right or wrong, Cap.”

 

“You were pretty good at your job, huh?” she asked.

  
“ _The best_ ,” he said forcefully, smiling.

 

END CHAPTER


	2. Chapter 2

**May 1931**

 

“Steven, don’t get into any fights!”

 

“Yeah, Ma,” he calls, letting the door slam shut behind him.  He’s going to hear about that later too.  He hurries.  Not a run, but quick as he can.  He’s supposed to meet Bucky to play ball.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices her, sitting on the fire escape.  His ma said her name was Margaret.  Steve’s pretty sure she goes by Peggy.  Not that he’s talked to her.  She keeps to herself mostly.  She and her father, Mr. Carter, have only been here a couple of weeks.  Fresh off the boat from England.  She goes to some private girls’ school.  Protestant, his ma said, in the way she says things she doesn’t approve of.  He doesn’t know why they’re living in this neighborhood, but times are tough.  People do anything they can to scrape by.  He knows that well.

 

***

 

He doesn’t know where Bucky went.  Steve coulda swore he went down this alley, but he turns the corner and it’s just Carlo Brasi and his little brother, Gino, from two blocks over.  Steve’s ma never believes him when he tells her he doesn’t go looking for fights.  They just find him.

 

“Fellas,” he says.

 

Carlo lands a whopper that sends Steve spinning away, tasting blood.  In the distance, he hears a yelp that sounds like maybe it came from Gino, but that doesn’t make any sense.  He wipes his lip with the back of his hand and looks up at Carlo.  The jerk is smiling at him, laughing.

 

“Get up,” he taunts.

 

Steve is already pushing himself to his feet.  He’s standing there, fists up, getting ready for the next round when out of nowhere, Carlo is knocked off his feet.  Steve can only stand there and watch, mouth open as that girl, Peggy, beats the tar outta Carlo Brasi.  She’s little, but she’s mean.  Steve’s never seen anyone fight so dirty in his life, but she does it with ease.  It’s only a few moments before Carlo is stumbling away, eyes wide.  He finally takes off down the alley, grabbing Gino as he goes.

 

Peggy stands there, breathing hard.  Her clothes are dirty from tussling in the dirt, but she looks incredibly pleased with herself.  She looks at him.  “Do you have something against running away?”

 

He just stares at her.  Finally, she shrugs and turns down the alley, leaving him standing there.

 

Steve wipes at his lip again.  It’s bad enough to be saved by Bucky, but being saved by a girl is a new level of embarrassment for him.  Though he already knows that the Brasis are never going to say a word about it.  They’re never going to admit that both of them got beat up by a girl.  That’s something, at least.

 

***

 

“Hey, English, whatcha doin’?” Bucky yells up to Peggy as she sits on the fire escape, skinny scraped knees drawn up to her chest.

 

Steve smacks him in the arm and shakes his head.  Bucky’s used to the neighborhood girls, and his own sisters.  He’s not ready for Peggy Carter.

 

***

 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Bucky swears, touching experimentally at his black eye.

 

“Buck, language,” Steve chides.  He frowns at his friend.  “I tried to warn ya,” he says quietly.

 

“Well, who the hell expects ... _that_ ,” Bucky swears, balling the handkerchief up in his fist.  It’s spotted with blood from his split lip.  He shakes his head, frowning.  “She fights dirty.”

 

Steve laughs.  “I didn’t know anybody could fight that dirty,” he says.  

 

Bucky looks over at him.  “How’d you know not to mess with her?” he asks.

 

Steve shrugs and looks away.  He’s not about to admit that Peggy saved him in an alley a couple of days ago.  He still doesn’t have any idea why she did it.  It’s not like they’re friends.  He doesn’t think she has friends.  At least not in the neighborhood.

 

***

 

Steve’s heading out again to play ball when he sees her sitting on the fire escape.  This time he stops, looking up at her.  After a moment of hesitation, he climbs up to her and takes a seat, knees drawn up, his position mirroring hers.  “I’m Steve,” he says.

 

She looks over at him, frowning.  “I know,” she says.  “I hear her yelling at you all the time.”

 

He frowns.  His ma does have a set of lungs on her.  “And you’re Peggy,” he says.

 

This time, she smiles.  “I knew that too.”

 

He looks up at the sky.  He has no idea how to talk to a girl.  The only girls he ever talks to are Bucky’s little sisters and they don’t count.  He takes a breath. “So why’d you move here?”

 

She looks over at him and then away.  “My mother died.”

 

He nods.  “My dad died,” he says.  He shrugs.  “I never knew ‘im.”

 

“My father says that we must do the best that we can. And that sometimes, the best we can do is to start over.”

 

He misses the ballgame with Bucky for the first time in as long as he can remember.  He doesn’t even feel bad about it.

 

***

 

“What is she, your girlfriend or somethin’?” Bucky asks.  He’s really sore about Peggy these days.  Steve doesn’t know why.  Maybe because she beat the snot outta him.  Maybe because, unlike the rest of the neighborhood girls, Peggy doesn’t sigh when Bucky walks by.  She doesn’t seem to notice him at all.

 

Steve frowns.  “It’s not like that, Buck.”

 

Bucky looks away and Steve is a little hurt.  Clearly, despite teasing Steve about it, Bucky didn’t actually think Peggy was his girlfriend.  Steve gets it.  She’s outta his league.  All girls are outta his league.  Bucky’s goin’ with a new girl, Kathleen.  Steve’s pretty sure she doesn’t even know his name.

 

Steve’s always been smaller than the other kids, sicker.  But lately it’s just getting worse.  He could swear Bucky’s grown half a foot in the last six months.  When they were little, people used to mistake them for brothers.  These days, no one believes they’re the same age.

 

Before long, Bucky leaves, sneaking out to see Kathleen.  Steve’s warned him he’s going to get whooped good if her father catches him.  He’ll get whooped even worse if his father finds out about it.  Bucky doesn’t care.  He could always take a beating.

 

Peggy’s in her perch as Steve walks by and he doesn’t even hesitate, he just climbs up and takes a seat.

 

***

  
It’s not even a month later when Father Bartholomew pulls him aside after Sunday mass and gives him the talk.  Steve has never been so embarrassed in his life.  He knows his mother put the Father up to this, especially the bit at the end about what happens to good Catholic boys who are tempted by Protestant girls.  It’s a week before he can even look at Peggy again.

 

END CHAPTER


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a note, though I'm sure it's already very obvious, the past (Steve) sections and the present (Peggy) sections are stylistically very, very different. I hope it isn't too jarring for anybody.

**November 1936**

 

Steve walks slowly, in a daze.  She’s gone.  He knew it was bad.  He knew she probably wasn’t going to live through the winter, but he didn’t expect her to go so quick.  He didn’t expect to be an orphan before Thanksgiving.  He hates himself for thinking that way.  He’s eightteen.  He’s a man.  But now he’s all alone, with no family.

 

The funeral will be next week.  Father Bartholomew is making the arrangements.  They’ll bury her next to dad.

 

Out of habit, Steve looks up at the fire escape.  Peggy’s not there.  Peggy hasn’t been there for years.  They used to be so close, but the older they got, the harder it got to just be friends.  He had to pull back when she started dating fellas.  Rich guys with a lot of book smarts.  Older brothers of her classmates.  Steve guesses she has a type.  They tend to be dark haired, tall.  Hell, they have to be tall.  She’s tall.  A good three or four inches taller than him.  Makes him wonder why she never took a shine to Bucky, though he’s glad she didn’t.  

 

Peggy saw his ma yesterday.  The nurses told him that when he arrived in the morning.  They asked if she was a cousin and he just shrugged.  He couldn’t really explain what Peggy is to him these days.

 

The apartment is cold and dark, which is just fine with him.  He sits down in the chair and stares at the wall.

 

He hears the key in the lock and he expects Bucky, but he turns and it’s Peggy.  She closes the door and shrugs out of her coat, draping it across a chair before she crosses the room to him.  She doesn’t say anything, she just falls to her knees in front of him and cups his face in her cold hands.

 

His chest aches so bad, but he can’t cry.

 

She leans forward and kisses him.  It’s soft, chaste.  His hands find her upper arms, holding her loosely.  She sniffles, pressing her forehead against his.

 

He’s aware of her dress and her hair and the way she smells.  He closes his eyes against the pain.  “You got a date?”

 

She shakes her head.  “Not anymore.”

 

He laughs mirthlessly.  “You don’t gotta babysit me, Peg.  I’ll be fine.”

 

She looks at him, her expression stricken, though he doesn’t know why.  She leans in close again and kisses him.  But this time it’s not chaste.  Her lips are soft and she nips at his.  Her tongue darts out, tracing the seam of his lips and he sighs, leaning toward her.  Her tongue is in his mouth, sliding against his own tongue and every nerve in his body is on fire.  

 

He touches her, running his fingers through her hair the way he’s always wanted to.  She’s so soft and she tastes so good.  She takes his hand and guides it to the buttons at the front of her dress.  He doesn’t need to be told twice.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Holy shit_.”

 

Steve blinks awake and looks at Bucky standing in the open doorway to his bedroom.  Peggy lifts her head and looks at Bucky, her expression closed, defiant.

 

Bucky turns away, shaking his head, giving them his back.  “Carter, your old man is lookin’ for ya,” he says.  “I heard him a minute ago.  If you don’t want him to call the cops, you better get home.”

 

“Bloody hell,” she curses, but gets up from the bed.  Steve watches her, still unable to believe he gets to see her naked.  Despite all her fellas, it was her first time too.  She dresses quickly and then turns to him, kissing him deeply before she leaves.

 

Steve hears the door in the distance and reaches for his shorts and trousers, pulling them on.  

 

“Well,” Bucky says, “I came over here to try and cheer you up, but I really can’t top that.”

 

“Bucky,” Steve says wearily.

 

“Sorry,” Bucky immediately says.  “I mean, I’m sorry.  About your ma.  I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

 

Steve drags a hand through his hair.  “There’s nothing you coulda done, Buck.”

 

Bucky frowns.  “That’s not really the point.”

 

Steve sighs and reaches for his shirt, buttoning it.

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy’s next to him at the funeral, holding his hand as Father Bartholomew says mass.  Bucky’s ma, Mary, looked upset at first, but Steve saw Bucky take her aside.  For the rest of the day she’s very respectful, though Steve knows she still has her complaints about Peggy.  Steve figures his mother would probably approve of her disapproval.

 

Mr. Carter is at the funeral as well.  Steve has no idea what he thinks.  He knows the man has to suspect where Peggy was the other night, especially in light of the fact that she's holding his hand right now.  It seems a little late to ask him for permission to date his daughter.  Also, he doesn’t think Peggy would appreciate it.

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy’s still in high school, still spending time with her friends.  But she doesn’t have fellas anymore.  Most evenings she’s with him, whether it’s at his apartment, or he’s over at hers.  He thinks Mr. Carter must be what his mother would have disapprovingly called _cosmopolitan_.  Not that Steve complains.  He doesn’t know what he’d do without Peggy.  Now when Peggy doesn’t come home, Mr. Carter knocks on the door until she answers and tells him she’s okay.  

 

The little bit of money from Steve’s mother’s life insurance policy is running out and he finally managed to find a job doing illustrations for a little publishing company.  It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.  Bucky has a job at his uncle’s repair shop.  Between the two of them, they might be able to scrape together enough money to take the girls skating.  Peggy likes to skate.  Steve’s sure Bucky can manage to find a dame who likes to skate too, at least for one evening.

 

It’s a cold night in March when Steve gets home to see Peggy sitting at the table with a letter.  She looks up at him.  “I’ve been accepted,” she says.  She hands him the letter.

 

He stares at it.  College.  In Boston.  He didn’t know she’d applied.  He’s not shocked.  It’s always been clear that Peggy was meant for more than this neighborhood, more than him.  But the last couple of months got him thinking that maybe ...

 

“That’s great,” he says, forcing a smile.  He couldn’t have afforded a ring anyway.

 

* * *

 

“You’re an idiot!” she yells at him, her cheeks wet with tears.  “You are meant for so much more than - “ She looks around, motioning to everything.  “ _This_!”

 

She’s leaving tomorrow.  He thought it best to give her space.  He knows the lessons her father has taught her, that sometimes you need to make a new start.  He’s part of her old life.  He doesn’t want to drag her down.  He skipped the going away party.  Bucky went.  He said it was okay, but she’d seemed upset.  Now Steve can see how much of an understatement that was.

 

“Peggy,” he starts.

 

She glares at him and Steve stops.  He knows that look.  He’s a little guy, but he’s had a lot of fights.  He might be able to take her in a fair fight, but he already knows she doesn’t fight fair.  And he wouldn’t fight back anyway.  He’d rather her not remember him beaten down.

 

“You don’t know a bloody thing about women,” she says, still crying.  She storms out of the apartment and that’s the last time he sees her until Christmas.  By then she has a new life, a new fella.  Steve got a job with a better publishing company.  Things aren’t going so bad, but with the conflict going on in Europe, you never know what’s going to happen.  

 

He’s had even worse luck with women recently than he had before he and Peggy got together.  Bucky tells him his standards are too high and he just needs to get laid.  Steve ignores him.  Bucky has a point, but after what Steve had with Peggy, he doesn’t want to just find a broad for the night the way Bucky does.  Steve knows what it means to be with someone he loves.  And without that, there’s just no point.

 

At the big Christmas party Bucky’s mom always throws, he overhears Peggy mentioning that she wants to join the Army as soon as she finishes her nurse’s training.  The thought of her being anywhere near war makes his blood run cold.

 

After the party, Steve heads up the stairs to his apartment and notices Peggy, standing in the doorway to her apartment, telling her fella goodnight.  Steve pretends to be distracted, walks by them as quickly as he can.  Her guy is from Connecticut, some rich family.  Steve hears him telling Peggy he’ll pick her up for dinner tomorrow.

 

It’s the wee hours of the morning when Steve hears the footsteps.  Before he can get out of bed, Peggy is climbing in with him, wrapping herself around him.  He wants to ask her why.  He wants to ask her everything.  But she kisses him and all he can do is kiss her back.  When it’s over, she cries and Steve doesn’t know why.  But he holds her close.  He thinks she’s going to leave, but she doesn’t.  She rests her head on his chest and falls asleep.

 

He wakes up alone.

 

The next time he sees her, she’s in uniform.

  
END CHAPTER


	4. Chapter 4

**December 1941**

 

Steve sits in front of the radio for hours, listening.  Bucky, for once, is quiet.  Neither of them can believe it.  Bucky finally asks.  “Where’s Peggy stationed?”

 

Steve shakes his head.  “Some research facility.  Top secret.  I don’t know where.”

 

“She's supposed to be back for Christmas, isn’t she?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve nods.  “Yeah, but with this, who knows.”

 

Bucky gets up and paces around the room.  Steve knows he’s considering enlisting.  He knows it because he’s considering the same thing himself. America is going to join the fight.  Lots of young men, like himself, are going to put their lives on the line to avenge this tragedy, to stop it from happening again.  

 

Maybe Bucky will go, but maybe not.  He’s his parents’ only son.  The oldest of four.  But Steve already knows that if Bucky makes up his mind to do it, nothing will stop him.  Not his family.  Not his girl.  Nothing.

 

Steve wonders how long he would have to wait for them to get desperate enough to take him.  He already knows he can’t pass the medical exams.  Hell, he couldn’t even get a doctor’s note to run track at school.  There’s no way they’re going to send him to war.  Not now.  But Steve’s studied enough history to know that sometimes the fight drags out long enough that they get truly desperate.

 

That night, all they do is sit on the floor of Steve’s apartment, listening to the wireless and feeling helpless.

 

* * *

 

 

“Peggy’s back,” Bucky says, closing the door harder than necessary.  Steve can almost hear his mother’s admonition in his head.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says.  “I saw her outside earlier with her dad.”

 

Bucky’s been in a mood the last couple of days.  Steve doesn’t know what’s going on, other than the obvious.  But he doesn’t really think it’s the war that has Bucky so worked up.

 

“So is it her that won’t commit, or is it you?” he asks, rounding on Steve.

 

Steve just stares at him, frowning.  “Buck, you know as well as I do that she’s got one hell of a life ahead of her.”  
  


 

“ _You_ ,” Bucky says shortly.  “I knew it.”

 

Steve frowns, shaking his head.  “You know she’s too good for the likes of us, Buck.  She’s always been too good for us.  You’ve seen the fellas she brings home.  Harvard educated, officers, all tall and rich.”

 

Bucky just shakes his head.  “I’ve seen the fellas she brings home,” he says.  “But I’ve also seen the fella she _fucks_.  Who also happens to be the one she’s been in love with since she was thirteen years old.  What the hell is wrong with you?  You have a girl you love who loves you back.  Peggy’s ... Peggy’s as good as it gets, Steve.  Why would you throw that away?”

 

Steve frowns.  It’s true enough that his relationship with Peggy has continued.  Whenever she’s home, she sees him, stays with him.  They’re together, however briefly.  But he always lets her go in the end.

 

“She’s meant for more, Buck.”

 

Bucky shakes his head again.  “Maybe you’re meant for more too.  You ever think about that?  You have a shot, Steve.  A shot to be really happy with the girl you’ve always wanted.  Why can’t you just take it?”

 

Steve frowns, looking at his hands.  “She deserves more.”

 

“She deserves to be _happy_ ,” Bucky says.  “Do you think she’s happy with those assholes?  Have you even bothered to look?  None of them make her laugh.  None of them make her smile. Jesus, Steve, she comes to my mother’s fucking Christmas party every year just to see you.  My mother is _awful_ to her, just awful.  But she comes for you.”

 

Steve has no idea what to say.  No idea how to respond.  Bucky doesn’t understand.

 

“What happens if the rubber breaks next time, Steve?” he demands.  “What happens if you knock her up?  Will you man up then?  Or will you let her pawn it off on some rich guy rather than risk it?  Would you let him raise your kid?”

 

Steve doesn’t bother responding.  While Bucky has a point, Steve’s beginning to see what’s had him so tied in knots the last couple of days.

 

Bucky paces around the room.  He goes into the kitchen, looking out the little window that faces down the walkway, toward the Carters’ apartment.  

 

“Ivy’s late,” he says quietly.

 

Steve looks up and nods.  Ivy’s the girl he’s been seeing lately.  She’s young, still in highschool. Steve warned him off, but Bucky’s always done exactly what Bucky wants to do.  “How late?” Steve asks.

 

“Fuck if I know,” Bucky says.  “She says she’s late.  She says if she’s knocked up that it’s mine.”  He sighs, shaking his head.  “I’ll have to marry her,” he says.  “I’ll be stuck working for her dad in that damn fish market for the rest of my life.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Did Bucky really get some highschool girl pregnant?” Peggy asks.  She’s propped up on her elbow, staring at him.  They’re in bed together, huddled together under the blankets against the cold.  When they were together tonight, it was different.  Steve doesn’t know how exactly, but it was.  More than just the normal relief at being together again.  Like it’s the beginning of something.  Or the end.  Outside, the snow is falling steadily.  New York will be buried in it by morning.  

 

“Maybe,” Steve says, holding his hand up, measuring it against hers.  He’s a little guy, but his hands are still bigger than hers.  They’ve always been out of proportion with the rest of his body.  “Ivy told him she’s late.  Bucky doesn’t know anything for sure except that he’s in trouble.”

 

“It’s a wonder it’s taken him this long,” Peggy says dryly.  “He’ll hump anything that holds still long enough for him to mount it.”

 

Steve wishes he could argue with her, but he can’t.  Bucky’s a lousy guy sometimes, even if he is Steve’s best friend.

 

Steve shifts, turning to face her.  She’s beautiful.  She will always be the most beautiful girl he’s ever known.  He lives for these moments, this quiet togetherness with her where they make love and talk for hours.  He brushes a lock of hair back from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear.  

 

They just look at each other for a long time.  Steve knows it’s doomed.  He’s always known it’s doomed.  She’s a shooting star.  And he spends a lot of time trying not to die from pneumonia in the winter months.

 

He wonders, though, if there’s any truth to the vitriol Bucky spilled the other day.  Steve loves Peggy.  He’s always loved Peggy.  But he’s never really considered that she might love him back in the same sort of way, that he might be wounding her by not reciprocating as fully as he can.  He’s always seen it as a kindness that he’s kept his distance.  But what if it’s not kind?  What if he’s just been a coward?

 

She curls up against his side, wrapping an arm around his waist.  He knows, in objective terms, that they look ridiculous together.  It’s one of the reasons he rarely takes her out.  Well, that and he’s always broke.  People can’t seem to stop themselves from making comments.  She’s bigger than him.  Taller, broader ... bigger.  But she’s never seemed to mind that he’s small.  Aside from her being irritated that he refused to run away from fights, she’s never really seemed to notice his size at all.  

 

And Bucky’s right, Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen one of those rich fellas make her laugh.  Steve makes her laugh.  Her eyes light up and she giggles ‘til she cries.  He’s never considered that maybe he’s the only one who gets to see that side of her.  He also never considered that Peggy puts up with Bucky’s mother just to see him.  Steve loves Mary like a mother, but that woman can be a witch when the mood strikes.

 

Peggy sighs, dragging her hand through her hair and Steve knows she’s been planning what she’s getting ready to say.  

 

“I’m not sure when I’m going to be back,” she says quietly.  “It could be a long time.”

 

He opens his mouth and then closes it.  There are so many things he wants to say, so many promises he wants to make, so many commitments he wants to secure.  But he can’t.  He doesn’t have anything to offer her and it wouldn’t be fair.

 

She looks at him for a long time, waiting, and then rolls over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.  Laying there, she seems defeated in a way he’s never imagined possible.

 

“Why is it that I’m the only fight you can walk away from, Steve?” she asks.  He can hear the tears in her voice.

 

Before Steve can answer, she’s pushing herself out of bed, searching for her clothes.  She dresses quietly, efficiently.  She turns and looks at him.  And then she walks away, cheeks wet with tears.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve never knows exactly what happened with Ivy.  He doesn’t think Bucky does either.  But Bucky’s dire predictions about being tied down, stuck in a life he didn’t choose, disappears overnight, along with Ivy.  Neither of them says it, but they both know.  Bucky has a kid out there somewhere.  Probably Ivy’s parents are going to make her give it up.  Steve doesn’t know how Bucky feels about that.  He won’t talk about it at all.

 

Any thought of Bucky cleaning up his ways is shot right in the foot.  If anything, he’s worse than ever.  He actually gets arrested a few times, fighting outside of bars.  Steve drags him home, dumps him on the couch and lets him sleep it off, so his ma doesn’t have to see.  In the morning, Bucky always promises to be better.  But the next night, it’s always the same story.

 

Peggy’s true to her word.  Steve doesn’t see her.  Not even the next Christmas.  It’s been a year.  He thinks about her every day.  He prays that she’s safe.  He writes a lot of letters he never sends.

 

It’s a cold February day when Steve walks by the apartment and sees Mr. Carter carrying boxes down to a truck outside.  He tells Steve he has a new job, in Chicago.  Mr. Carter puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezes, giving him a sad smile.

 

Everybody’s leavin’.  Seems like all the fellas Steve grew up with, even the ones who used to beat him to a pulp, are enlisting.  Some of them are officers.  Some enlisted.  Some have already come home in boxes.  

 

The publishing company Steve had worked for folds and Steve’s out of a job.  He goes looking and finds lots of places hiring.  Times are tough with so many fellas going overseas.  The waiting rooms are full o’ dames.  And Steve.  He gets three different job offers the first week.  Not because he’s better than the dames, but because even a little guy is still a guy.  He takes a job at a book bindery.  The hours are awful, but the pay is okay.  They hired three dames at the same time they hired him and he gets twice their pay despite the fact that he doesn’t have a family at home like them.

 

Steve doesn’t stop to think about it.  He just does it.  He walks into the recruitment office and signs up.  The look the guy gives him when he hands him the form is like a gut punch.  This isn’t the waiting room for a job.  This is the Army.  And they still aren’t desperate enough to take someone like him.

 

Afterwards, he stares at the piece of paper, stamped 4F.  It’s not like Steve didn’t already know these things, but to see it spelled out so concrete.  They don’t want him.  They don’t need him.  He stares down at the form.  

 

There’s only been one fight he walked away from and he’s pretty sure he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.  

 

He’s not walking away from this fight.

 

Bucky seems to be embracing the same sentiment.  He gets arrested again, stinking drunk.  he swung for a guy and hit his girl.  It was a mess.  This time when they take him in front of the judge, the judge isn’t inclined to look the other way.  Good men are dying, he says.  And Bucky’s here, able bodied, young, wasting his life.  He gives him a choice, enlistment or jail.  Bucky picks the war.

 

The same spring day that Bucky ships off for Basic, Steve signs up again.  Same results.  The guy acts like he’s doin’ him a favor when he stamps the form 4F.  He tries twice more while Bucky’s gone.  The Army is loud and clear.  They don’t want him.

 

Bucky’s going to go overseas, put his life on the line to protect the people back home.  To stop the bullies from hurting people who can’t defend themselves.  How can Steve do any less?

 

He goes to the movies, picks a fight with some jerk a couple of rows ahead.  He’s in the process of having the tar beat out of him when Bucky shows up and chases the guy off.

 

That night, at the Fair, Steve tries his luck again.  Nothin’ good in life came easy, that’s what his ma always said.  Persistence was one of the first lessons he learned.

 

This time, it pays off.

 

Dr. Erskine will give him a shot.  The rest, he says, is up to Steve

 

END CHAPTER


	5. Chapter 5

**Present Day**

**New York**

 

Despite there being not much to unpack, Peggy still wasn’t finished unpacking.  She’d had enough.  She left a box on the bed and slowly walked to the door.  There was a bodega on the corner and she needed to pick up a few things.  She walked out into the hallway and nearly ran into someone.  She looked up and sighed, screwing her eyes shut in frustration.

 

Jack Thompson, formerly known as her fake neighbor, Tim, held up his hands.  “Not my call,” he said.  “I’m just following orders.”

 

“SHIELD doesn’t even exist anymore,” she snapped.  “Who the hell are you taking orders from?”

 

He just looked at her.  “You already know.”

 

“A dead man, then,” she said, shaking her head in disgust.  “I don’t need your help, Thompson.  Find a new place to live.”  She headed for the stairs, taking them faster than her ankle liked, but it was worth the limp she had at the bottom, to be out of his sight.

 

Natasha had pestered her for months to get out, to meet people, to form connections.  Of all Natasha’s suggestions, the only time Peggy ever tried to see if there was a spark of something, it had been with Tim, _Jack,_ whatever his name was.  He lived next door.  He was handsome, though he made it clear he knew it.  He was taller than her, kinda lanky, fantastic bone structure.  He had light eyes, which were almost a deal breaker.  Peggy never dated guys with light eyes, well, there was the one notable exception.  Though the exception was actually the reason _for_ the rule.

 

But Jack had been charming in a weird kind of way.  He had a dark, bitter humor and seemed fairly jaded on the whole.  There was some kind of attraction between them, which may have just been friction.  Peggy thought, however briefly, that it might be worth learning more.  One date, a movie on the couch over a couple glasses of wine.  A single kiss.  In retrospect, she was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to fraternize.  That was a serious breach of protocol if he was supposed to be there, babysitting her for Fury.

 

And now, here he was in New York.  Dammit.  LIke she didn’t have enough other things to worry about what with SHIELD, Hydra and not least of all, Steve.  She hadn’t heard a word about him at all, good or bad.

 

She picked up a couple of things at the store and walked slowly back to her building.  Her ankle was killing her.  Luckily the hallway was empty when she reached the landing.  But she hadn’t even finished putting the groceries away before there was a knock at her door.  She kept it chained, but opened the door.

 

“What do you want?” she asked him.

 

Jack looked frustrated.  Good.  “I ordered pizza,” he said.  When she didn’t reply, he shook his head.  “Jesus, Carter, lighten up.  Have some goddamn pizza.  It’s not going to hurt you.”

 

She wanted to tell him to get lost.  But she was hungry.  And lonely.  She closed the door, slid the chain back and let him and his pizza box in.  Mostly just the pizza box.

 

He looked around.  “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

 

She just glared at him, but she was aware that she did sort of enjoy fighting with him.  He had a knack for it.  She was always one to appreciate skill, even if a typically underappreciated forum.  

 

She dug her laptop out of a box and turned it on and they streamed several episodes of a TV show as they ate pizza.  Jack had also brought a bottle of bourbon and while Peggy’s constitution was the stuff of legend, they drank _a lot_.  She was a little tipsy.  Jack was lit.

 

Sitting there on the ratty couch together, Peggy asked him about himself.  The same questions she’d asked Tim a month ago, though now with different answers.  He was an only child, raised by his mother in Southern California.  Served in the Navy before being recruited by Fury.

 

The jury was still out on whether Peggy liked Jack better than she’d liked Tim.  He started brushing against her more than was strictly necessary and she decided it was time to call it an evening.  Unceremoniously, she stood up and walked to the door, holding it open.  He frowned at her, but stood up.  He leaned against the door, looking at her.  He started to lean toward her, but she turned her head away.

 

“Really?” he cursed.  “You’re killin’ me, Carter.”  He sighed, walking through the door.  “Sleep well.   _By yourself_.”

 

“I will,” she assured him.

 

She closed and locked the door.  Walking around the apartment, she picked up the pizza box and dirty glasses.  She sat down and started another episode of the show they’d watched when there was a light knock at the door.  Well, he was nothing if not persistent.  She wasn’t sleeping with him.  But maybe just one kiss.  Maybe.

 

She opened the door and went still.  Steve stood there, looking at her.  She glanced out into the hallway, thankful it was empty and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him inside her apartment.  She had barely closed the door before he backed her against it.  His hair was a little longer, sticking up unevenly.  His beard needed to be trimmed.  All she could do was look at him, a lifetime of memories rushing back.

 

His hands were at her hips, flexing there.  Was he here to hurt her?  To see her?  She didn’t know if he even knew.

 

“I remember you,” he said quietly.  His brow furrowed like he was fighting to hold onto wisps of memories.

 

She nodded mutely, her hands coming to rest on his upper arms.  She could have wept at the feeling.  “Your name is Steve Rogers,” she said quietly.  “We grew up together, in Brooklyn.  We fought together in the war.”

 

He frowned, shaking his head, but he leaned in toward her and unlike she had with Jack, she did not turn away.  She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close.  He nuzzled at the hollow beneath her ear, breathing deep.  “ _Peggy_.”

 

She held him so tight, her fingernails biting into the corded muscle of his back as tears streamed down her cheeks.

 

“You were the only fight I ever walked away from,” he whispered.  

 

She sobbed silently, pressing her face against the juncture of his neck and shoulder.  He wrapped his arms around her, shuddering, breathing hard.  She didn’t know how long they stood there like that.  She’d consumed enough alcohol that her sense of time wasn’t great.

 

Finally, there was a noise out in the hall that pulled Peggy from her haze.  She looked at the door, concerned that Jack might be having second thoughts.  Quietly, she led Steve through the apartment to her bedroom.  She pushed him inside and held her finger up to her lips, pulling the door shut just as someone knocked on the apartment door.

 

She answered it and found Jack leaning there, looking down at her.  “What?” she demanded.

 

“You know what, Carter - “ he started.

 

“I don’t care,” she said flatly.  “You’re drunk.  Go back to your apartment and sleep it off.”  She slammed the door.  She stood there, waiting until she heard Jack’s footsteps retreat and his apartment door open and close.

 

She hurried back to the bedroom and opened the door.  It was empty.  Dammit.

 

END CHAPTER


	6. Chapter 6

**June 1943**

**Camp Lehigh**

 

Steve stands in the line with the other candidates.  He knows the rest of them have been in the service for a while, some of them years from the look of it.  He’s so busy looking around, that he doesn’t notice her at first.

 

“Gentlemen,” she says.  Steve’s head snaps toward her so fast his helmet spins.  They couldn’t find one small enough to fit tightly.  “I’m Agent Carter,” she says.   “I supervise all operations of this division.”

 

“What’s with the dress?” one of the soldiers asks.  “I thought we was in the Army, not a beauty pageant.”

 

Steve winces on the idiot’s behalf.  This is not going to turn out well.

 

Peggy steps toward the soldier.  He’s a big guy.  Taller than Peggy.  Possibly meaner as well.  But smug.  He’s underestimating her.

 

“What’s your name, soldier?” she asks.

 

“Gilmore Hodge, at your service, Miss America.”

 

“Step forward, Hodge,” she says with a tight smile.  “Put your right foot forward.”

 

Hodge steps forward and smiles.  “Oh, we gonna ‘rassle’?” he asks, winking.  “‘Cause I got a few moves I know you’ll like.”

 

Peggy punches him, hard.  Peggy has always been a dirty fighter, a real scrapper.  She may not be as big as the other guy, but she commits.  Hodge drops like a sack of potatoes.  Steve has no idea what to think.  Peggy’s not a pushover, but she just knocked the tar out of that guy like it was nothin’.  Like she coulda put more on that punch than she did.

 

A jeep pulls up and three men, including Dr. Erskine step out.

 

“Agent Carter.”

 

She spins, saluting.  “Colonel Phillips.”

 

“I can see that you are breaking in the candidates, that’s good.”  Phillips looks at Hodge with disgust.  “Get your ass up out of that dirt and stand in that line at attention until somebody comes and tells you what to do.”

 

Steve watches the interplay.  Phillips clearly respects Peggy, likes her.  And this is an area where she feels a great deal of competence.  Dr. Erskine stands off to the side, just watching.

 

Steve listens as Colonel Phillips outlines what’s going on.  A week.  They’ve got a week to prove themselves and at the end of the week, one of them will be chosen to be a super soldier.  Steve doesn’t miss the fact that Phillips has zeroed in on him and doesn’t seem pleased.  There appears to be a bit of a rift between Phillips and Erskine over him.  Peggy doesn’t seem to be part of it, which shocks him.  When he saw her, some part of him assumed that she was the reason he was here at all.  But watching Phillips and Erskine, he’s not sure that’s the case.

 

For her part, Peggy is ignoring him.  Or at least paying him no more attention than she pays the rest of the recruits.  It’s a new and unnerving sensation.  Peggy is great at making a man feel like he’s invisible.  Steve’s seen her do it to countless guys.  He’s just never been on the receiving end.  He doesn’t like it.

 

* * *

 

 

At the end of the first day, Steve can barely feel his arms.  His chest aches and he hasn’t been able to take a proper breath for hours.  But he’s here.  

 

He has a shot.   _One shot._  

 

And he’s not going to waste it.

 

* * *

 

The third day, Hodge kicks the barbed wire obstacle over on him.  That guy’s a jerk, just the kind of guy Steve has always despised.  He’s a brute, an ape.  He doesn’t have the ability to think through a problem, so he just runs at it full tilt.  He can’t tell allies from enemies, so he doesn’t even bother.  

 

Steve catches Peggy watching him as they extricate him from the mud and barbed wire.  Of all the times for her to take notice.  But she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything other than make a note on her clipboard.

 

* * *

 

The fifth day, they run.  And run.  And run some more.  They ran this yesterday and Steve was nearly half an hour behind the rest of the guys by the end, and coughing up blood, though he hid that.  But this time they stop at the midway point and the drill sergeant points out the flag.

 

Steve watches as the other recruits scramble.  Hodge gets the closest, climbing over the other guys, of course.  But even Hodge fails, sliding back down and landing in the dirt.

 

The drill sergeant yells for them to get back in line and Steve steps up, surveying the pole.  He hears the sergeant yell at him, but he pulls the pin and the flagpole falls.  Carefully, he releases the flag and hands it to the sergeant, crawling in the back of the Jeep before anyone can say anything.

 

Peggy just looks at him, her eyes bright, lips pressed together tightly in a vain attempt to quell her smile.  She looks so proud of him, and he has to look away before he starts blushing.  He knows if they were alone, she would have kissed him already.  It may have been a year and a half since he last saw her, but some things he just knows.

 

* * *

 

The sixth night, Steve lays there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling.  He wonders what part Peggy played in getting him here.  He’s seen her and Erskine talking.  Did she point Erskine in his direction?

 

Whatever Steve has done here, he’s done on his own merits.  He knows that.  If he succeeds, or if he fails, it will all be on him.  But it seems like too big of a coincidence that he’s here with Peggy.  Fate can’t be that random, can it?

 

He still hasn’t had a proper conversation with her.  There have been looks, a smile or two.  But rarely a direct words unless it’s to bark an order at him.

 

He wonders if she has a fella, though, he admits to himself, it’s not a big worry.  She’s had fellas before and they’ve never gotten in between him and Peggy.  It doesn’t make any sense.  He knows that.  But he also knows it’s true.  There’s no reason a beautiful, successful dame like Peggy should have eyes for him.  But she does.  She always has.

 

* * *

 

Steve sees the grenade and he doesn’t think, he just jumps.  He sees Peggy coming toward him and frantically waves her off, wrapping himself tighter around the grenade.

 

But then, nothing happens.  He looks up, sees people standing up from where they took cover.  Someone yells that it was a dummy grenade.

 

“Was this a test?” Steve asks.

 

He sees Phillips and Erskine staring at each other.  Phillips looks away, frowning.  Erskine won.  He looks at Steve and smiles.  Steve turns to Peggy.  She beams at him.

 

* * *

All the other fellas pack up.  Some of them just seem relieved for it to be over.  Others are clearly sore at him.  Hodge is a jerk, as usual, dumps Steve’s footlocker out just to be a dick.

 

Steve is picking up books and putting them back in the footlocker when someone walks in.  He turns to see Peggy standing there.  She’s not supposed to be here, but he knows that look.

 

She crosses the room to him and kisses him.  They’re a frantic tangle of arms and legs.  Somehow Steve ends up on his back on his bunk, with Peggy on top of him.  His hands are under her skirt, gripping her ass and she has his shirt off.  God, it’s been so long.  They’re dry humping against one another when someone clears their throat loudly.

 

Steve and Peggy both stop, staring at Dr. Erskine.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” Peggy curses.  She stands up, quickly adjusting her clothes and hair.  Steve sits up, frantically grabbing for his shirt and pulling it over his head.  Peggy’s out the door before Steve completely has his shirt on.

 

Erskine’s eyebrows are nearly at his hairline as he watches Peggy leave.  Slowly, he takes a seat on the empty bunk across from Steve.  “So,” he says carefully, “you and Agent Carter seem to have made fast friends.”

 

“Uh, no,” Steve frowns.  “It wasn’t ... I mean ...”  He stops and takes a deep breath, adjusting his shirt and dogtags.  “We’ve known each other since we were kids.  We were.  She was - “

 

“Your girl?” Dr. Erskine asks.

 

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it.  He nods.  Erskine’s description is accurate enough and he really doesn’t want to get into the gritty details of his history with Peggy.  He doesn’t think it paints either of them in a particularly flattering light.

 

“Apparently reaching for the stars is nothing new for you,” Dr. Erskine says, arching an eyebrow.

 

Steve purses his lips together and looks at the floor.  “She’s the one who did the reaching,” he admits.  “I just didn’t argue.”

 

“Wise man,” Erskine replies.

 

He and Erskine sit quietly for a long time.  Steve looks up at him and asks, “Why me?”  Honestly, he doesn’t know if he means from Erskine’s perspective, or Peggy’s, but regardless, he needs to know.

 

“I suppose that is the only question that matters,” Erskine says.  He relates to Steve the story of his own history in Germany, of Schmidt and his horrible vision.  “The serum amplifies everything that is inside," Erskine says, "so good becomes great.  Bad becomes worse.”

 

He looks at Steve.  “This is why you were chosen.  A strong man, who has known power all his life will lose respect for that power.  But a weak man knows the value of that strength, and knows compassion.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve says, “I think.”

 

“Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing, that you will stay who you are.  Not a perfect soldier,” Erskine says, tapping him on the chest, “but a good man.”

 

Steve nods.  “To the little guys.”

 

“Indeed,” Erskine says.  He sighs.  “I suppose I should be going.  I think perhaps you have another visitor, yes?”  He smiles at Steve and leaves.

 

* * *

 

Steve sits there after Dr. Erskine has left, pondering his words.  He hopes he can live up to Erskine’s expectations.  All he’s ever wanted to do is help.  To make a difference.

 

He hears the door and Peggy is there again.  More subdued.  Slowly, she crosses the room and takes a seat next to him.

 

“What did Dr. Erskine say?” she asks.  He notices that when she speaks to him, her British accent is noticeable.  When she was addressing the recruits, she sounded completely American.

 

“He talked about the serum,” Steve says.  He sighs.  “I wonder if it’ll hurt.”

 

“It does,” Peggy says tightly.

 

Steve looks over at her, frowning.

 

“You’ll be the beta test,” she says.  “I’m the alpha, though only Phillips and Erskine know that.”

 

His frown deepens as he looks at her.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

She looks at him.  “You know exactly why, Steve,” she says shortly.  “You passed on every opportunity to have a say in how I live my life.”

 

He wilts a little, bracing his elbows on his thighs. “ _Peggy_.”

 

She just looks at him and he finally looks away.

 

They sit there in silence for several minutes and Peggy finally reaches over and takes his hand.  Out of habit, he measures it against hers.  His is still bigger.  He wonders how much that will change with tomorrow’s procedure.  Assuming he lives through it.  He’s supposed to be a super soldier, whatever that means.

 

Peggy reaches over and touches his chin, tilting his head towards hers.  He kisses her and she reciprocates.  This time, he turns off the lights before they start shedding clothes.  

 

* * *

 

It’s not yet dawn when she creeps out of the barracks.  He has to meet her in a couple of hours for the drive into the city.  He probably should have gotten some sleep, but it was worth it.

 

* * *

 

In the car, they talk like old friends, catching up.  Their conversations last night were much more intimate.  But they are friends, have always been friends.  They can do chitchat, especially with an eighteen month backlog to catch up on.  He hears about her dad’s new job in Chicago.  He tells her about Bucky’s meltdown and subsequent enlistment.

 

Steve is surprised the facility is in Brooklyn.  It’s all so oddly circular that he should end up right where he started, with Peggy at his side.

 

He’s shocked with all the secrecy surrounding the facility.  By the time they get down to the facility floor, his nerves are in high gear.  There’s an observation room.  There’s a lot of people, full stop.  For all the secrecy, this is one hell of a show.  He wasn’t expecting this.  He wonders if Peggy had an audience too.

 

“Take off your shirt, your hat, and your tie,” Dr. Erskine says.

 

Steve pales and slowly removes his shirt.  Dr. Erskine looks pointedly at the love bites and fingernail scratches.

 

“Well,” he says, “I’m going to assume you didn’t get the recommended eight hours of sleep.”

 

“Not so much, no,” Steve replies.

 

“How much did you get?” he asks.

 

“None.”

 

Dr. Erskine rolls his eyes as Steve crawls onto the table.  Erskine looks at Peggy, frowning.  She blushes and looks away.  Steve catches Phillips watching the byplay.  Oh, God, could this be more embarrassing?  Erskine finally shoos Peggy up to the booth.  He watches her go, wondering if it will be the last time he sees her.

 

The first injection starts.  Steve winces.  “That wasn’t so bad,” he says.

 

Erskine frowns down at him.  “That was penicillin.”  He shrugs.

 

Steve’s stomach drops.  The paddles depress against his skin and the injections start for real.  The pain is incredible.  The capsule starts moving.

 

END CHAPTER


	7. Chapter 7

It all happens so fast.  He’s barely out of the capsule, leaning on Stark and Erskine. Peggy’s there.  Her expression is ... strange.  She touches him quickly, like he’s some volatile substance.  She hands him a shirt.  He doesn’t know what to make of how she’s acting.  

 

Then there’s the shot.  Erskine falls.  Steve is dimly aware of Peggy going after the shooter.  Steve leans over Erskine and the doctor looks up, tapping Steve in the chest.  

 

 _A good man_.

 

Steve is outside.  He moves without thinking, grabs Peggy, pulling them both out of the way of the speeding car.  He messed up her shot.  She’s pissed.  He yells an apology and then he’s after the shooter, running faster than he ever dreamed possible.  It takes him a moment to realize that Peggy is right behind him, and when he mistimes a jump, she leaves him in the dust.

 

Steve races after Peggy and the shooter.  He ends up on the roof of the cab and then shielding himself behind the door.  Unlike him, Peggy doesn’t try to take the guy on from the front.  He watches as she skirts around, trying to get behind him.  But the guy is good.  He grabs the kid for cover and quickly makes his way to the waterfront.

 

The boat, whatever the hell it is, dives.  Peggy’s gone after the kid and Steve dives after the shooter.  He pulls the guy out, throws him like a ragdoll back onto the dock.  Before he and Peggy can get any kind of answer, the shooter foams at the mouth and is gone.  

* * *

 

Steve stands there, trying to absorb what’s happened.  He stares down at himself and doesn’t recognize his body.  How did he do all that?  He doesn’t know.  His body seemed to react before he’d finished a coherent thought.

 

Various military personnel and police officers arrive.  They take the Hydra operative’s body.  SSR agents rush in toward him, but Peggy orders them away.  She takes his arm, her expression tight, and leads him to a waiting car, ushering him inside.  They’re both barefoot and soaking wet.  Peggy’s skirt is torn and his trousers are ridiculously too short.

 

Steve pulls the car door closed, too hard, it breaks the handle. He stares at it and his hand starts shaking.  He drops the handle onto the floor of the car.  

 

Peggy gives the driver an address and looks at him.  The distance in her gaze fades and she pulls him close, holding his hands in hers.  He doesn’t want to touch her.  What if he hurts her without meaning to?

 

She looks up at him, touches his cheek lightly.  “You won’t break me, Steve,” she says.  “I’m like you.”

 

He’s not sure he fully understands what that statement means, but he’s relieved.  He grasps her hand, holding it in his own.  She pushes her hand against his, measuring them.  His hands dwarf hers now, but the act itself is so familiar, so deeply ingrained in him that it calms him.  He studies her red nails, notices how one of them is chipped.  One of them is always chipped.

 

* * *

 

Steve has no idea where they are.  Some SSR facility.  He’s in the room with Peggy, sitting on a couch, hands clasped together.

 

“You should acclimate quickly,” she says, her tone distant and clinical.  “Your mind will catch up with your new physical capacity.  You shouldn’t have to worry about breaking off any more car handles unintentionally.  Dr. Erskine estimated that it should take less than twenty-four hours.  But initially it can be _unpleasant_.”

 

Steve frowns.  That’s a word for it.  It feels like things are crawling under his skin, like all of his nerves have been electrified.  He keeps twitching.  He goes from hot to cold and back to hot again.  Of all his physical ailments, he’s never felt anything like this.  

 

But at the same time, he’s never felt better.  He can see, my God, he can see so clearly.  His hearing, he had no idea it was possible to hear as well as he can hear.  His joints don’t ache, which makes no sense considering what’s happened to him in the last four hours.  But they don’t.  He can breathe.  His chest doesn’t ache.  He’s not tired.  If he calms himself, concentrates, he swears he can hear Peggy’s heart beating from across the room.

 

“You felt like this?” he asks her.

 

She shrugs.  “I don’t know.  It’s too subjective.  I experienced a lot of unpleasantness, some definite increased physical capacity, but - “ she motions to him, seeming at a loss.  She shakes her head.  “Nothing to the extent that you experienced.”

 

He nods again.  He needs new trousers, these are a foot too short for him now.  “Can I get some new clothes?” he asks.

 

She nods. “They’re supposed to be delivering them soon.  Along with medical staff to do a physical assessment.”

 

It has not escaped Steve’s notice that Peggy is keeping her distance.  Is she afraid of him?  He’s taller than her now.  That’s ... _weird_.  But in a good way?  He doesn’t even know.  He’s pretty sure he now looks like the fellas she always brought home.  So why won’t she look at him?  

 

* * *

 

 

A whole regiment of people show up.  They have clothes for him and a barrage of medical tests.  They take endless vials of blood.  He feels like a pincushion by the end of it.  Peggy watches it all, frowning.  He has no idea what she’s thinking.  He wonders if she had to do all of this.  she said that only Phillips and Erskine knew about her though, so probably not.  What happened to her?

 

The whole things turns into even more of a circus when Phillips and Senator Brandt show up.  

 

Phillips is pissed.  “I asked for an army and all I got was you.”  

 

Steve gets it.  Erskine is dead.  The whole project will be mothballed and Phillips will have to find another way to stop Schmidt and Hydra.

 

Phillips tries to ship Steve off to Alamogordo, but Senator Brant intervenes.  Steve doesn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to Peggy.  Phillips is sending her to London asap.  She looks at him as she follows Phillips out the door.

 

* * *

 

 

The publicity tour is bizarre by any stretch of the imagination.  Steve is performing, on stage, in tights.  There’s nothing in his life that could have prepared him for that.  He’s damn glad Bucky isn’t here to see the outfit.  He’d never live it down.

 

The girls are interesting.  They’re what his ma would have called _worldly_.  He supposes you could probably use that term to apply to Peggy too, but he always had a frame of reference for Peggy.  Peggy defies the odds, reaches for the stars.  She can accomplish anything she wants.  She’s a force of nature.  But no matter how high she flies, deep down, she’ll always be that scrappy little girl from Brooklyn who beat the snot outta Carlo Brasi in that alley to save Steve’s ass.

 

But the girls on the tour ...  A lot of them are former dancehall girls.  Not that he holds it against them.  People gotta eat.  A lot of the girls have kids at home and no fella.  The gig pays well.  And they know how to put on a hell of a show.  

 

But he doesn’t have anything in common with any of them.  And it’s clear that they make assumptions about him based on the way he looks.  When he doesn’t react the way they expect, they make a whole new set of assumptions.  That leads nowhere good.  They’re no longer throwing themselves at him, which is helpful since they’re in incredibly close quarters all day, every day.  But some of them start changing in front of him like he’s not even there.  Talkin’ about ... female things that he’s sure no fella should ever know.  Steve decides he isn’t cut out for show business.  

 

But on the plus side, he’s pretty sure he could undo just about any lady’s undergarment with his eyes closed.  In case he ever needs to put that knowledge into action, he's prepared.

 

He does get to see some of the country, which is interesting.  He’s never been out of New York before, hardly ever been out of Brooklyn.  So long as you don’t count his week long field trip to Jersey.  

 

After they make their Midwest loop, it’s overseas.  USO.  Steve’s thrilled to be going overseas, to be visiting the front lines.  But he isn’t thrilled about having to wear his tights in front of real soldiers.  He’s got everything he thought he wanted, and none of it is going to plan.

 

His fears turn out to be well founded when they get to Italy and the troops start throwing things at him and calling him Tinkerbell.  He gets it.  He knows he’s a joke.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s sitting there in the rain, feeling sorry for himself when she walks back into his life.  He hears the footsteps and turns to see her taking a seat on one of the crates.  “Hi, Steve,” Peggy says softly.

 

He turns to face her, glad for the trench coat covering his ridiculous outfit.  “Hey.”

 

“What are you doing out here?” she asks.

 

He wants to go to her, embrace her, like he would have before the serum.  But the way she’s sitting, with her legs crossed, hunched in on herself, it doesn’t invite contact.  Steve frowns.  “Bein’ the dancin’ monkey,” he says.  “As usual.  What’re you doin’ here?”

 

“I’m not here,” she says.  “Not officially.”

 

He looks at her, his expression softening.  She came and found him, even with things being so strange between them.  Against orders.  He hopes she’s still in Phillips’ good graces.

 

She sighs.  “I heard how the show was received.  I’m sorry.”

 

He shrugs.  “Beats Alamogordo,” he says.  “Don’t much fancy bein’ a lab rat.”

 

“You have other options, you know,” Peggy says firmly.  “You just have to find them.  I’ve already told you you’re meant for more.”

 

He knows the truth in her words.  He really does.  It’s just ... it’s always been so easy for her to take what she wants.  He’s always been the one to hold down the fort.  “Yeah,” he says.  “I don’t think the fellas much cared for the show.”

 

She frowns.  “This unit has been through hell.  Two hundred men went up against Schmidt’s forces.  Only fifty returned.  These men are all that’s left of the 107th.”

 

Steve looks at her, his blood going cold.  “The 107th?  Peg, that’s Bucky’s unit.”

 

Peggy pales.  “ _What_?”

 

They race across the sodden ground to Phillips’ tent.  Steve’s faster only because he’s not wearing heels.  Phillips looks up at them, standing together and nearly growls in irritation.  He looks at Peggy.  “You and I are going to have a conversation later that you’re not going to enjoy,” he says darkly.

 

Peggy looks undaunted.

 

Phillips confirms the worst.  Bucky is one of the missing.  And there’s no plan to rescue the men.  

 

“I don’t expect you to understand because you’re a chorus girl,” Phillips says, sneering at Steve.

 

“I think I understand just fine,” Steve says, bristling.

 

“Then understand it somewhere else,” Phillips says.  “If I read the posters correctly, you’ve got somewhere to be in thirty minutes.”

 

“Yes, sir, I do,” Steve says, heading out of the tent.

 

Peggy follows Steve into the USO tent, not bothering to look away as he sheds the tights in favor of fatigue pants and combat boots.  He grabs one of the prop shields and helmets, along with a jacket.  He’ll probably be court martialed if he doesn’t get killed, but he can’t just leave Bucky out there.

 

“What are you doing?” Peggy demands.  “Walking to Austria?”

 

He turns and looks at her.  “I’m going to get Bucky, Peg,” he says.  “You know as well as I do that I can’t leave him there.  Not if there’s a chance he’s still alive.”

 

She rolls her eyes.  “Not like that you’re not,” she says.  “And not by yourself.  Come with me.”

 

* * *

 

They’re creeping through the dense brush up to the Hydra base.  “So you and Stark ...fondue?”

 

“Shut up, Steve,” Peggy snaps.

  
END CHAPTER


	8. Chapter 8

Steve knocks out the guard and Peggy unclips the keys from his belt.  One of the soldiers in the cell below asks, “Who are you two supposed to be?”

 

Steve frowns.  “Captain America,” he says.  He looks over at her.  “And Peggy.”

 

“ _Agent Carter_ ,” Peggy corrects and he looks chagrined.  She rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she makes for the stairs and quickly descends.  She begins unlocking cells.  They’re an odd pair, she knows.  Two soldiers infiltrating one of the most highly secured Hydra bases in Europe.  Like Steve, she’s dressed in fatigue pants and combat boots with a heavy leather jacket.  Unlike Steve, she doesn’t have that ridiculous shield, which probably draws attention more than it provides cover.

 

The prisoners file out of the cells quickly, but quietly.  Steve’s on the other side of the room.  He looks over at her and she shakes her head.  No Bucky.  

 

“I’m looking for Sergeant James Barnes,” Steve says.  “Anybody heard of him?”

 

The Englishman shakes his head.  “There’s an isolation ward in the factory, but no one’s ever come back from it.”

 

Peggy knows the set of Steve’s features and where they’re heading.  “Gentlemen,” she says, “the tree line is northwest eighty yards past the gate.  Get out fast and give ‘em hell.  We’ll meet you in the clearing with anybody else we can find.”

 

“Wait,” one of the soldiers says, looking from her to Steve and back again, “are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

 

Peggy arches an eyebrow and looks at Steve expectantly.  To her surprise, he seems to be leading the show.  She’s willing to go with it, for now.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says plainly.  “I’ve knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times.”

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Peggy curses under her breath, heading for the stairs.  Though his stint as a chorus girl does explain why he’s so comfortable taking the lead in this situation.  He’s literally had dozens upon dozens of dress rehearsals.

 

* * *

 

“Steve!” Peggy yells.  She pulls at Bucky’s restraints, snapping them. She grabs Bucky’s chin in her hand, staring into his face.  He’s alive, thank God.

 

He blinks up at her.  “Peg?”

 

Steve rushes in, and helps Bucky sit upright.  Bucky’s jaw drops open as he stares at Steve. Steve claps him hard on the shoulder, his face tight with emotion.  “I thought you were dead.”

 

Bucky just stares at him.  “I thought you were smaller.”  He turns to Peggy, his expression searching.  

 

Peggy just shrugs, pulling one of Bucky’s arms around her shoulders as Steve gets his other side.  They move him quickly down the hallway.

 

“What happened to you?” Bucky asks Steve.

 

“I joined the Army.  Like Peg,” Steve replies.

 

“Did it hurt?” Bucky asks, still staring at Steve.

 

“A little,” he admits, his attention focused on their surroundings.

 

Bucky looks over at Peggy again, clearly trying to sort it all out, how the two of them are there, together.  How Steve isn’t exactly Steve anymore.  “Is it permanent?” he asks.

 

“So far,” Steve replies, hurrying them down the hallway.

 

The prisoners are making a hell of a racket, giving Schmidt’s forces a good fight from the sound of it.  Peggy knows that she, Steve and Bucky have got to get out before they go up with the building.  Schmidt isn’t one to leave anything behind for the Allies to find.  He will cover his tracks well.

 

Enormous explosions rock the factory floor, sending them all careening into the wall.  They turn a corner and end up on a catwalk.  The flames from the factory floor are terrific.  The heat and smoke are blinding.  The only way out, is up.  Steve charges ahead.  Bucky follows as quickly as he can.  And Peggy brings up the rear.

 

By the time Peggy gets to the landing at the top, Schmidt is already calling to Steve.  Her blood runs cold.  Steve is strong, brave, and never one to run from a fight, but Schmidt is a monster, a killer, a sadistic mass murderer.  Peggy doesn’t even think, she just reaches forward and hits the control that retracts the catwalk, forcing Steve back out of Schmidt’s range.

 

Schmidt turns and looks at her, smiling.  “Ah,” he says, “there she is.  Margaret.  Erskine’s favorite.  Whatever are you doing here, my lovely?  I thought your colonel kept you far from the fight.”

 

Peggy pulls the pistol out of her holster and shoots.  Schmidt moves, lightning quick, but her shot grazes his temple.  The piece of shit gun jams and she can’t get off another round.

 

Schmidt laughs and begins pulling at the mask he wears, ripping it away to reveal his true face.  Peggy’s seen it before.  It’s no shock to her.

 

But Steve and Bucky both stare.

 

“You don’t have one of those, do you?” Bucky asks Steve.

 

Steve doesn’t answer, he’s busy staring at Schmidt.

 

Schmidt, however is interested only in Peggy.  “You were the only one,” he says, sounding awestruck.  “The only one who lived.  Do you understand just how special that makes you?  How very precious you are?”

 

She doesn’t reply.  She just stands there, trying to figure out how the hell to end the son of a bitch.

 

More blasts rock the building and Schmidt seems to snap out of it.  He retreats with Zola trailing in his wake.

 

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Peggy says.  She looks at their surroundings.  They can’t go back the way they came.  She extends the catwalk again and Steve grabs Bucky, helping him across.  

 

The next explosion that destroys the catwalk.  

 

Steve and Bucky stand on the far side, staring at her.  “Go!” she yells at them.

 

“No,” Bucky yells.

 

“Not without you,” Steve yells.

 

Peggy frowns and backs up as far as she can, to get a run at it.  There’s another explosion and she goes, leaping as hard as she can.

 

* * *

 

Most of the prisoners made it out alive, but some of them are in very bad shape.  They salvaged what supplies they could, and a tank or two.  But it’s still rough.  They’re thirty miles behind the line.  It will be a lot of walking to get most of these men back to camp.

 

Peggy climbs in the back of one of the two transport trucks, pulling Bucky with her.  He’s in awful shape.  She knows, very well, what Zola did to him.  She saw the marks on his arms from the injections.  If he makes it through the night, he’ll probably live.  But he has to make it through the night.  The vast majority don’t.

 

Peggy takes the blankets she scavenged and urges Bucky to lay down.  He does so without a word, collapsing onto the dusty plank flooring.  Peggy shrugs out of her own coat and drapes it across him before wedging herself as tightly as she can against him.  She covers them both with the blankets, praying it’s enough.

 

Steve is outside, rallying the prisoners, making plans, taking headcounts.  He’s good at it, she realizes.  It’s not a shock, exactly.  She knew he was more than up to the task, but to see him actually living up to his potential is deeply satisfying.  She always had faith in him.  Always.

 

At her side, Bucky shivers.  She holds him close.  She and Bucky were never friends on the same level that she was friends with Steve, but Buck’s like the brother she never had.  Annoying.  Rude.  A total pain in the ass.  And someone she loves deeply.  She’s known him for forever.  He’s not going to die in the back of this transport truck, not if she has anything to do with it.

 

“I knew you were in the Army, Peg,” Bucky says, “but I didn’t realize you were on the front lines.”

 

She stares up at the tarp overhead.  “I’m typically not,” she admits.  “I made an exception for you.  I hope you feel honored.”

 

He laughs bitterly.  “Very.”

 

“I do expect you to do me the favor of not dying, after I’ve gone to all this trouble,” she says.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

She lays there for hours, holding Bucky, listening to his breathing.  She wasn’t prepared to see Schmidt tonight.  She can’t believe the bastard was actually there, that he knew who Steve was and apparently views him as a rival for the bragging rights to being Erskine’s masterpiece.  There’s not contest.  Clearly, Steve is the winner.  However, Schmidt won’t take that news lightly.  He’ll try and find some way to twist and corrupt Steve.

 

“Hey,” Steve says, climbing into the back of the truck.  By now more prisoners have been loaded into the truck, those who will be too weak to start walking at daybreak.  Peggy motions Steve over, urging him to lay on Bucky’s other side.  They sandwich Bucky between them and after several minutes, his shivers finally stop and his breathing evens out with deep sleep.

 

“How many prisoners survived?” Peggy asks.

 

“Little over two hundred,” Steve says in the dark.  “Some of them had been in there for months.”

 

“Poor bastards,” Peggy says quietly.  This seems like such a perversion of the nights they used to share, cuddled together against the world.  

 

They are quiet for a long time and Peggy has finally started to drift off to sleep.

 

“Schmidt knew you,” Steve says.

 

She opens her eyes.  “He knew you too.”

 

She can almost hear his frown.  “He saw my movies.”

 

“Not now, Steve,” she says wearily.  “Later.”

 

* * *

 

Phillips does his damndest to look irritated, but Peggy knows he is very pleased.  He doesn’t even yell.  And he always yells.  Even when he’s happy.

 

Peggy parts company with the soldiers, showers, changes clothes and falls into her bunk for a few precious hours of sleep.  Bucky is much recovered, though it is clear there is deep trauma there.  Or maybe he’s been like that for a while.  Peggy hasn’t seen him in a long time.  She never heard what happened with that high school girl, but Buck isn’t married, so something happened or, rather, didn’t happen.

 

Steve ... finally found his place.  That makes her happy.  He is damn good at leading.  The men follow him without question because they know he isn’t asking them to do anything he wouldn’t do himself.  He puts himself out there for them and they responded in kind.  People naturally rally to him.  It is something she’s always known, but few other people had ever bothered to discover.

 

* * *

 

It takes some convincing, but Peggy is on the team.  She owes Philips, she knows that.  But the Howlies are a ragtag bunch to being with, so she isn’t even sure she’s the odd one out.  The fellas are apprehensive at first, but as soon as they see she can pull her weight, they accept her without question.  Though it’s clear they are all still trying to work out exactly how it all fits together.

 

They draw the worst missions, the most dangerous, and they’re almost always successful.  It takes Peggy a while to figure out where she belongs within the team.  She’s a good shot, but Buck’s better.  She’s strong and she’s fast, but not as strong or fast as Steve.  

 

She is a hell of a tactician.  Steve often defers to her, though she does her best to listen to Dugan when he sees fit to chime in.  She feels like her true strength is in making everyone on the team better.  Making the team, itself, better.  They’re stronger, more cohesive, with her.  And as long as she’s there, Phillips pretty much stays out of their hair and keeps everyone else out as well.

 

She thinks that Phillips is probably secretly relieved about her new assignment.  She knew that he always thought it was a waste to have someone with her abilities pushing paper and barking orders.  She has to agree with him.  In the time since she received the serum, she had almost no opportunity to discover what she was capable of.  That’s all changing.  And it’s exhilarating.  She feels like this is what she was meant to do.

 

* * *

 

They’ve been a group for just about five weeks when Christmas arrives.  By some miracle, they’re actually in camp.  It’s not home. But it’s better than Chicago with her father and his new girlfriend, which is how she spent last Christmas.  Being with both Steve and Bucky is a definite improvement.  It feels like a slice of home, even if Bucky is still a mess and Steve isn’t exactly Steve.  

 

It does remind her, though, of the year before last, the last time she and Steve were together, when she gave him his final chance and then walked away.  She had intended for it to be permanent.  She wanted to make a clean break, for all the use it had done her.  

 

When Erskine showed her the file on his candidate, she couldn’t believe it.  To this day, she’s still not sure what she said to him.  Mostly, she stayed out of it, made sure to let Steve architect his own fate.  And he did.  Without her help.  To her shock, that was a little bittersweet.  She’d always known he was capable, but she will always feel protective toward him.  It is too ingrained in her to have his six.  She’s had it since they were thirteen.

 

Bucky pokes his head in her tent.  “C’mon, Peg,” he snaps, before disappearing again.  She rolls her eyes, but grabs her jacket and follows him to the tent that most of the Howlies share.  Steve and Bucky have their own tent, which amuses Peggy to no end.  Sharing a tent with Bucky would never be Peggy’s idea of a privilege.  She thinks Steve does it mostly so he can keep an eye on Buck.

 

Peggy ducks in the tent and laughs.  They’ve decorated.  It’s abysmal.  Worse than if they’d done nothing at all, but it seems fitting.  Peggy takes a glass of eggnog, minus the eggnog and toasts to Dugan before taking a seat next to Denier.  

 

The evening is melancholy for most of the Howlies.  Most of them are stuck half a world away from the people they love.  If they have family to return to.  Not all of them do.

 

“You seem awful fuckin’ chipper, Barnes,” Dugan says, shoving Bucky’s thigh with his booted foot.

 

“Eh?” Bucky asks and then shrugs.  He’s pretty fuckin’ lit.  “Just like old times,” he says.

 

Dugan’s brow furrows. “You spent most Christmases hunkered down in some God forsaken camp a couple o’ miles from the front lines of a war?”

 

Bucky shakes his head and waves Dugan away.  “Nah,” he says.  “Christmas party.  Watchin’ Steve and Peg pretend to not notice each other.  At least my ma’s not here harpin’ about grandkids.  And Peg doesn’t have some date she brought only to drive Steve nuts.”

 

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve says, glowering.

 

Falsworth frowns.  “You three grew up together, didn’t you?  From when you were kids.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky says.  Then he turns to Falsworth.  “How’d you know?”

 

“Carter’s accent,” Falsworth says with a smile.

 

Peggy arches an eyebrow at him.

 

“You lose it when you’re talking to anyone, except these two,” Falsworth says, pointing to Steve and Bucky.  “But when you speak to them, you sound very English.”  He smiles a little sadly and Peggy assumes she must remind him of someone he knows.  Or knew.

 

Peggy nods, refusing to look at either Bucky or Steve.  The Howlies knew that Steve and Bucky grew up together.  They knew that she was in charge of the SSR division responsible for the creation of Captain America.  But up to this point, the exact story of how Peggy knows Steve and Bucky had never come up, much less any history they might have.  

 

She and Steve have been consummate professionals, both on the battlefield and off.  In all honesty, they’ve been so busy there’s barely been time for a private word or two, much less anything of substance.

 

“Hell yeah we grew up together,” Bucky says.  He motions in a big sweeping arc with his hand.  “Steve and Peg always had a thing.”

 

Peggy downs the rest of the brandy in her cup and reaches for the bottle.  She doesn’t quite have Steve’s constitution, so she’s willing to give it a try and see if she can get thoroughly plastered.

 

The rest of the Howlies, who aren’t quite as plowed as Bucky, take pity on her and Steve and change the subject.  The evening wears on, and as it turns out, Peggy can get fairly drunk.  It’s a lovely little respite, even if she knows she’s going to feel like shit in the morning.  

 

They sing some offkey, drunken Christmas carols, exchange a few Christmas gifts, which share in common only the fact that they are all in thoroughly bad taste.  She’s not sure if she moves, or it it’s them, but she eventually finds herself leaning against Steve and resting her feet on Bucky.  Steve’s arm is around her shoulders in a way that’s more friendly than romantic.  For the first time, in as long as she can remember, she feels a bit of peace.

 

It is the wee hours of the morning when the three of them finally duck out so the Howlies can get some sleep.  If that’s what they intend.  Peggy suspects Dugan will be up drinking well past dawn.

 

She and Steve support Bucky between them and dump him unceremoniously on his bunk.  He’s passed out almost instantly.  Peggy covers him with several blankets.

 

“C’mon,” Steve says, “I’ll walk you back to your tent.”

 

If it were anyone else, Peggy would protest.  Hell, if it were any other day and she were any more sober, she’d probably protest.  But it’s Christmas and it’s Steve and she’s had a lot of brandy, so she just nods and lets him take her hand.

 

The camp is far from quiet.  There are sounds of revelry everywhere, though to Peggy’s ear, it all sounds a little sad.  Steve pulls her close and she wraps her arm around his waist as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

 

The walk doesn’t take long.  And as she suspected, Steve doesn’t say goodbye at the metaphorical door.  She lights a candle and he takes a seat on her bunk, watching her.  She does her best to ignore him, shrugging out of her jacket, pouring water in a basin and washing her face and teeth.  There were times in their lives where they practically lived together, so these little intimacies are far from extraordinary.  They’re comfortable.  Probably too comfortable given their current assignments.

 

She stands at her table, with her back to him, brushing out her hair.

 

“Is something wrong?” he asks quietly.  “With me?”

 

Peggy turns and looks at him.  “Why do you ask that?”

 

“Because you’re keeping your distance,” he says pointedly.

 

She looks around at the tent and shrugs.  As far as intimate spaces go, this is pretty much it.  Her tent, in the middle of the night, watching her bedtime routine.

 

He frowns.  “I don’t mean right this second,” he says.  “I mean in general.  Since I got Erskine’s serum, you’ve kept your distance.”

 

She turns back to the table and finishes brushing out her hair.  “We’re on a team together, Steve.  It’s not physically possible for me to keep my distance from you at this point.  We’re practically in each other’s faces all day every day.”

 

“You’re upset,” he says quietly, ignoring her rejoinder, seeing it for the feint it was.

 

She’s silent for a long time and finally turns to face him.  “Not upset,” she said carefully.  “It’s just ... different.”  She looks at him, her eyes searching his face.  She frowns.  “How would you feel if I completely changed overnight?”

 

Steve just stares at her.  “That actually happened, you know,” he says dryly.  “It was called puberty. One day you looked like me, a thirteen year old boy.  And the next,” he motions in her general direction, “you looked like you.  All curves and hips and boobs.”

 

“You're being ridiculous,” she says flatly, but she is aware that this is the first time they’ve really had an honest exchange like this, like they used to have, since that day in Brooklyn when the Steve she’d known and loved disappeared forever.

 

“I'm really not being ridiculous,” he says vehemently.  “You used to be one of the fellas and then ...” He motions toward her again.  “Adolescence is supposed to be a phase, Peggy,” he says plaintively.  “An _awkward_ phase.  You went to sleep one night and woke up the next morning looking like Jane Russell.”

 

Peggy just shakes her head.

 

“Remember that pink skirt you used to have?” Steve pushes.  “Your dad never shoulda let you out of the house in that after you turned fourteen.  It was indecent, Peggy.”

 

“It wasn’t indecent,” she counters, crossing her arms over her chest.  “It was cute.  My grandmother made me that skirt.”

 

He shakes his head, frowning.  “Indecent.  And do you have any idea how cruel that was to wear in front of ... hormonal boys.  I still have - “  He stops and falls silent.  “Nevermind.”

 

She sighs.  “What’s your point?”

 

“My point,” he says firmly, “is that you need to get over it.  I dealt with you looking different and it didn’t change how I felt about you.”

 

Her expression softens.  “Nothing has changed about how I feel about you,” she says quietly.  “It’s just ... different.”

 

He looks over at her and shakes his head and she can tell that he’s feeling lost.  “You always used to date fellas who looked like,” he motions to himself, “ _this_.”

 

She sighs, looking away.  “I dated them precisely _because_ they didn’t look like you.”  

 

He looks at her with open shock.  “You did?”

 

She tilts her head to the side, watching him.  She always thought that had to be so obvious to anybody who bothered to look.  “Yes,” she says.  “Of all the guys I ever spent time with, you were the only one I ever - “  She looks away.

 

He waits.

 

She looks at him.  “ _Loved_.”

 

She takes a deep breath and crosses the small space, taking a seat next to him on the bunk.  Pressing her lips together tightly, she looks at him.  “I dated those guys, but I ...”  She shakes her head.  “I never wanted anyone who reminded me of you.  That was mine, ours.  I didn’t want to share any part of that with anyone.”

 

He smiles softly and shakes his head.  Carefully, he reaches out and takes her hand, measuring his palm to hers.  She looks at their hands, pressed palm to palm.

 

He leans toward her, whispers in her ear, “My hands are still bigger.”

 

She smiles at him and shoves him playfully with her shoulder.

 

He reaches out, touches her chin lightly with the tip of his finger.  “I would love you no matter how you looked,” he said seriously.  “Why don’t I get the same consideration?”

 

She looks at him and shakes her head.  “ _You_ are the one who didn’t want _me_ ,” she says quietly, willing her voice to be firm.  “I gave you every opportunity, every chance.  And you turned me down every single time.”

 

He looks at her, his expression wounded.

 

She shrugs.  “And now ... now you look like _this_.”  She motions to his body.  “And it’s fine,” she says.  “You’re very handsome.”  She looks up at him.  “But you were handsome before.  And I loved you before.  And I wanted you before.”

 

She sits there, crossing her arms over her chest.  “I don’t understand why you suddenly being taller than me means that now you’re somehow ready to be with me.”

 

He frowns.  “I thought this is what you wanted,” he says.  “A fella who looked like this.”

 

“I wanted you,” she says.  She taps him hard in the center of the chest.  “ _You_.”

 

He just looks at her for a long moment.  “And now you don’t?” he asks.

 

“Steve -” she starts to protest.  But she’s cut off when he presses his lips to hers.  And whatever reply or argument she had is forgotten.  Because taller or not, this is Steve and she knows the taste and touch of him better than she knows anything else in this world.

 

Given both of their physical enhancements, Peggy thinks their coupling should be somewhat more graceful than it turns out to be.  She can blame the booze, but mostly it’s an issue with muscle memory getting in the way of their new reality.  They just don’t fit together the way they used to.

 

Which is not to say that they don’t fit together.  They do.  Quite well.  And impressively, if she does say so herself.  But it’s different from how it used to be.  And Jesus Christ he’s heavy now.  But strong, oh my God, the possibilities.

 

Their night together tends to be on the gentler side of their spectrum.  They’re more cautious.  Literally feeling their way through things, trying to discover where, exactly, the pointy bits need to go to ensure maximum satisfaction.

 

They finally collapse together on their sides, him spooned around her.  It’s dawn.  Peggy can see the light creeping under the edge of the tent.  He’s warmer now, which she heartily approves of.  But for as much as things have changed, it’s all still so familiar.  How many Christmases did they spend like this?  

 

As much as she argued with Steve, she knows there is more than a little truth in the accusations he leveled at her.  She did avoid him because he looked different after the procedure.  Partly because she was so angry with him for destroying the Steve she’d fallen in love with, and partly because she was afraid everything would be different.  It _is_ different.  But Peggy is finding that the more things change, the more they stay the same.  He still has that annoying habit of popping his jaw.  And he still insists on uncovering his feet when he sleeps.  At least now he is taller and he can uncover his feet without also uncovering hers.

 

And she still loves him.  So much is scares her.

 

His arms is draped across her hip and she covers his hand with hers, twining her fingers through his.  He’s asleep and doesn’t stir at her actions.  She isn’t sure what to think about that.  It’s not new.  He’s always been like that with her.  But on missions, at the barest sound, he’s up and on alert.  To test her theory, she rolls back against him far enough that she can kiss his cheek.  He sleeps through it all.

 

Peggy isn’t sure if she’s flattered or annoyed that she clearly does not register as a threat to him.  She looks at him in the dim morning light and knows that there is going to be a day soon when she doesn’t even notice that he looks different.  That makes her a little sad.  But not as sad as it would have made her had he not been wrapped around her like the world’s best Christmas present.

  
END CHAPTER


	9. Chapter 9

**Present Day**

 

Peggy pounded on the door again.  She was certain she wasn’t endearing herself to the occupants of the other fourth floor apartments, but she didn’t particularly care either.  It was just past six in the morning.

 

Bleary eyed, Jack finally pulled open the door.  He looked like death.

 

“Oh,” she said, “I thought maybe you’d want to go for a run.”

 

“You’re an asshole, Carter,” Jack said and slammed the door in her face.

 

Chuckling to herself, Peggy turned and jogged down the stairs and out onto the street.  She looked around, as always, but this time she looked closer than usual.  Steve was here, somewhere.  He was watching her, if he knew where she lived, if he knew when she was alone.  But even knowing that, she didn’t expect him to be standing on a corner.

 

She pulled her hoodie tighter around herself and set a leisurely pace.  Her ankle was much improved, but not a hundred percent.  Also, she didn’t really have any desire to show up tagged in anyone’s Instagram photos this morning.  An hour later, she stopped and grabbed a coffee, scrolling through news on her phone.  She was going to head into Manhattan later, at least make an appearance.  Not that Tony was in charge of her, but he did own the Tower and most of the toys, now that SHIELD was gone.  And she needed to talk to Sam, let him know their missing person hunt had some developments.  And find out how his transfer to New York was coming along.

 

Tossing the empty coffee cup into a trashcan, she started back toward the apartment, inwardly dreading it.  She really shouldn’t have harassed Jack this morning.  Knowing him, he’d take it as a sign she was interested in him, which she categorically was not.  He was just such a jerk he seemed to bring out the worst in her.  Also, she was bored.  It was a bad combination.

 

She walked slowly, mentally cataloging all the things she still needed to do.  She wondered what people thought the life of an Avenger was like.  Probably a lot more glamorous than it actually was.  She needed to transfer money out of her savings account to cover the mattress she was going to buy.  A furnished apartment was great in theory, but she discovered she was a little grossed out by the bed.  Part of her cringed inwardly at how soft she’d become.  But another part of her didn’t care.  Life was too short to sleep on lumpy, mattresses with highly suspect staining.

 

An hour later, she was showered and dressed. She caught a train into Manhattan and the coded elevator took her to the top of Stark Tower, which was currently undergoing renovations to become Avengers Tower.  There were tarps draped over everything, scaffolding abounded.  Peggy picked her way around construction debris and equipment and down a long hall to the small room she used.  It was a very multipurpose space, a large room with work tables, storage, a desk and a couch that pulled out into a bed.  There was a private bathroom with a shower.  In a pinch, she could sleep here.  And she had on a couple of occasions.  But she didn’t want to make a habit of it.  Tony’s world was too insular and it ventured into the antiseptic.  It would be too easy to hide here behind his money and resources.  She had to force herself out into the world.

 

She was sitting on the couch with her datapad in hand, scrolling through information when Tony knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a reply.

 

“Cap.”

 

“Tony.”

 

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, peeking at her screen.

 

“Ordering a new mattress for my apartment,” she said, glancing up at him.  “The one that came with the apartment has stains.”

 

Tony made a face of unadulterated revulsion and shivered.  “Good call.”  He pulled a telescoping rod out of his pocket and used it to poke through the piles on her worktable.  “So how’s everything going with the move?”

 

“Okay,” she said.  “One of Fury’s spooks is still following me.  He moved in next door.”

 

Tony frowned.  “Thompson.”  He held up his hands.  “I didn’t know about it and I definitely didn’t approve.  I made some discreet inquiries into your apartment building.”

 

She gave him a sour expression.

 

“Have you ever done any research into elder care?” he asked.  “It is important to check up on seniors, even those who live independently.  A social support system is vital.”

 

“I can bench press you without breaking a sweat.”

 

He frowned.  “That wasn’t in the pamphlet.”  He shrugged.  “Look, I owe you.  Dad loved you.  I kinda like you, so, you know, obligated.”  He gave her a serious look.  “What’s up with Wilson?  He relocating?”

 

“He’s trying,” she said.  “I need to call him and find out how it’s going.”

 

“So, you two ...” he said, leaving it hanging there.

 

“No,” she said flatly, “we’re not.”

 

“You’re not getting any younger, you know,” he said.

 

Shaking her head, she stood up, grabbing her jacket.  “On that note, I’ll be on my way.”  She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  “Never change, Tony.”

 

“Wasn’t going to,” he called as she headed down the hall.

 

* * *

 

Peggy opened one of the beer bottles, snapping the cap into the trash before she pushed up the sash on her living room window and climbed out to the fire escape with the rest of the six-pack.  She sat down crosslegged, leaning back against the rough, brick exterior of the building, watching the sky fade from day into twilight.  She wanted it to feel familiar, but it didn’t.  This building, while not posh by any standard, was a million miles from the apartment where she had grown up.  They had been poor.  Never starving, but poor.  Just like Steve and Bucky.

 

She was home.  Brooklyn.  And while some of it was so achingly familiar, most of it was as strange and offputting as the rest of this time.  She was acclimating.  Sort of.  Consummate professionalism could cover a multitude of sins.  She learned the language.  She learned the technology.  But even after years, most of the time, she was aware that she didn’t belong here.  She tended to keep herself so busy that it didn’t leave time for maudlin sentiment like this.  But every now and then, she couldn’t help herself.  

 

She heard someone on the fire escape and she groaned to herself.  She shouldn't have given Thompson hell earlier.  She knew he was going to think she was flirting with him.  But she sat in stunned silence as Steve climbed up and took a seat next to her.  He sat the way he used to, knees drawn up, hands wrapped around them hugging them to his chest as he watched her.  She sat there for long minutes, waiting to see if he was going to do anything, but he just watched her.  Eventually, she took one of the beers out of the carton and handed it to him.  Without a word, he popped the cap and took a drink.

 

While Peggy’s constitution was the stuff of legend, Steve’s was even more impressive, so even after finishing the six-pack, neither of them was the slightest bit impaired.  She gathered up the empty bottles and put them back in the carton and turned toward him.  He’d shifted so his legs were straight out in front of him as he leaned back against the building, watching her.  

 

Carefully, she reached for his hand, pressing her palm to his.  He took a deep breath as he looked at their hands, palm to palm.  She looked in his eyes and while he wasn’t precisely, Steve, he wasn’t a stranger anymore either.  

 

She shifted again, tucking herself against his side.  Out of habit, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her close.  Twilight gave way to night.  There was a pounding on her apartment door and Steve startled.  Peggy pressed her hand to his chest and then held a finger up to her lips, urging him to be quiet.  There was more pounding and then Jack yelling.  Peggy made herself comfortable next to Steve.  There was nothing in the universe that could compel her to get up and answer that damn door.

 

“It’s my neighbor,” she said dismissively.

 

“You don’t gotta babysit me, Peg,” he said.

 

Peggy’s head immediately snapped toward him.  He looked at her placidly.  She wondered if he had any idea what he’d just said.  She pushed herself up and around, so she was straddling him, one knee on either side of his thighs.  His hands found her hips as she sat down, facing him.  She reached out, cupping his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his lips.  It took only a moment before he responded, slanting his mouth against hers, pulling her closer.  For long minutes, they kissed and touched.

 

In the years since she lost him, the years since they thawed her out, she had taken other lovers.  But her hands still knew the landscape of his body with aching familiarity.  She would know him by touch alone.  And for all the ways in which he often wasn’t Steve Rogers, he seemed to know her just as well.  When it was clear where things were headed, Peggy pulled back and broke off the kiss.  Breathing hard, she looked at him.  He sat there, waiting.

 

“Let’s go inside,” she said quietly.  She grabbed his hand, twining her fingers through his.  She’d be damned if he was going to pull one of his disappearing acts again.

 

She opened the window and carefully stepped into the living room.  Steve did the same.  There were no lights on and she wasn’t going to turn any on.  She wasn’t going to do anything that would encourage Jack to come back.

 

They stepped lightly across the apartment and into the bedroom.  Peggy shut the door and before she could even turn around, Steve was grabbing for her, pulling her down onto the bed with him.  She kicked off her shoes and pulled her shirt over her head.  She dropped the shirt to the floor and looked over to see Steve holding a knife.  Her heart stopped for a moment, until she realized that he was wearing lace up combat boots and apparently didn’t want to take the time to unlace them.

 

“Jesus Christ,” she swore, snatching the knife out of his hand and slapping it down on the nightstand.  “I’m a sure thing.  Calm yourself.  It’s not a race.”  He frowned at her, but she just pushed him back on the bed and then unlaced his boots, setting them each on the floor.

 

As soon as she was done, he grabbed her again, hauling her against himself.  While she’d removed his boots, he’d taken off his shirt.  At the feel of his bare skin pressed to hers, she hissed through her teeth.  He rolled her onto her back, covering her body with his.  He immediately scooted down her body, removing her bra with practiced ease before burying his face between her breasts, kissing and sucking.  Well, that much, at least, was _exactly_ what she expected from Steve Rogers.

 

“Guess you still like my boobs,” she said dryly, though truthfully, she was quite flattered.  He might not know his name, but he knew her boobs.

 

“I fucking love your tits,” he said, sounding exactly the way he’d sounded at eighteen.  Like he was terrified he’d never get to see them again and needed to imprint the memory as deeply on his subconscious as possible.  Which, now that she thought about it, may very well have been what happened.   _Men_.

 

She scraped her nails across his scalp and he arched into the touch.  She still wasn’t sure if she liked this new look or not.  She always thought of him with floppy hair, forever trying to keep it from falling across his forehead.  Though for an assassin on the go, this was undoubtedly easier maintenance.

 

Oh screw it, she wasn’t going to think about that right now.  She ran her fingers down his back.  God, she loved his back.  As truly heartbroken as she had been at the loss of Skinny Steve, she could not deny that Steve’s serum enhanced body was a thing of beauty and possibilities.

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy reached for the phone and answered it.  Propping herself up on one elbow, Peggy glared at the display in the gray morning light.  “What?”  She looked over at Steve, who was dead to the world next to her, breathing deeply.

 

“Thompson called Fury.  Said you were MIA,” Natasha said.

 

“I’m not MIA,” Peggy whispered, though she doubted it mattered.  “I’m avoiding Thompson.”

 

Natasha was quiet for a moment.  “You have company, don’t you?”

 

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Peggy said, “but it’s not any of your business.  I’m fine.  Tell Thompson to fuck off.”

 

“Bout time you got laid -”

 

Peggy tossed the phone away and lay back down, looking at Steve.  He was on his side, half of his face buried in the pillow.  She reached over and kissed him on the cheek.  He didn’t stir.  She chuckled to herself.  Soviet master assassin or not, it was clear that a good deal of his base programming was pure Steve Rogers.  She wondered what his handlers would think if they found out his intended target didn’t register as a threat to him on the most basic level.

 

Grabbing a book off her nightstand, she proceeded to read.  It was hours before Steve finally woke up and when he did, he immediately reached for her, pulling her under him as he sought out her mouth.  

 

Later, they showered together in her cramped little shower stall.  Steve seemed bemused by her refusal to let him out of her sight.  She leaned against him in the shower and he wrapped his arms around her waist.  He pressed his lips to her temple and whispered, “Peggy.”

 

END CHAPTER


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a set of Christmas stories. The story of Steve and Peggy's first Christmas together as a couple. And their most recent Christmas together as a couple. 
> 
> The present day section is set a good six months past the 'present day' section of the story. In all honestly, I'm not sure that it's going to fit particularly well with the events I'm setting up in the main story, but we're going to go with it for now.

** Christmas - 1936 **

Bucky’s apartment was crowded with people, so many, in fact, that they’d spilled out into the walkway outside.  Bucky’s dad was out there, along with a lot of the neighborhood men, drinking and smoking, talking about work and politics, using quite a few words that couldn’t be repeated in polite company.  Steve nodded to them as he slipped inside the apartment.

 

The wall of noise and warmth that hit him as soon as he pushed through the door was overwhelming.  He knew Bucky’s ma had made her holiday punch.  She always did.  And it was clear that the ladies were already deep into it.  Twice he was grabbed, crimson kisses pressed to his temple as they pinched his cheeks and ruffled his hair like he was still ten.

 

“Ah, thanks, Mrs. Ross, Merry Christmas to you too,” he said, extricating himself from her grip as politely, but quickly as possible.  

 

He stumbled into the kitchen, relieved to see Bucky, his two oldest sisters, and at least a dozen of the neighborhood kids, including Peggy.  

 

“Mrs. Ross?” Bucky asked, frowning.

 

Steve immediately scrubbed at his face.

 

Peggy stood up from her seat at the kitchen table, navigating around Bud Garretson and Skip Parker to reach him.  Smiling, she took a handkerchief out of her pocket and gently grasped his chin between her fingers as she wiped away the lipstick at his temple.  She looked him over critically.

 

“Get it all?” he asked.

 

She sighed.  “For now, though it’s a bit futile.”

 

Steve frowned and started to ask, but Peggy kissed him, full on the mouth.  His breath caught, but he leaned into her, his arm wrapping around her waist, holding her close.  He loved kissing her, more than he loved breathing.  She always tasted faintly of cinnamon, now more so than usual.  He knew she’d been in the punch too.  She tilted her head, slanting her mouth against his, and he parted his lips, touching his tongue to hers.  

 

There were several whoops that snapped Steve back to reality and he hastily pulled back, glaring at Bud, Skip and Bucky.  “Jerks,” Steve said, frowning.  He knew his cheeks were burning and he was out of breath.

 

Peggy was much more composed.  She clasped his hand in hers, leaning against the wall next to him, seemingly unfazed by their reaction.  Across the room at the table, Bucky had his arm draped around Doris Graham’s shoulders.  Steve didn’t think that was a very smart move on Bucky’s part.  Doris had five older brothers, none of whom liked Bucky very much.  But Bucky hadn’t ever let a bad idea get in the way of his fun.

 

“Hungry?” Peggy asked.

 

“Starving,” Steve said.  It was his first week at the publishing house and he’d been putting in long hours.  Today was no exception.  He’d left before dawn and it was after eight in the evening before he made it back to the neighborhood.  He hadn’t had time for lunch.

 

Together, they went into the dining room.  As usual, the table was loaded with food.  They each got a plate and then shared a chair in the living room, their plates perched in their laps.  Steve ate until he was almost bursting.  There was enough money from his mother’s insurance money to buy groceries, but he wasn’t much of a cook and neither was Peggy, so he took full advantage of the situation.  Just as he was finishing up, Bucky’s mother walked by.

 

“Did you get enough to eat, Steven?” she asked.

 

“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” Steve replied with a smile.

 

She returned the smile warmly and then looked over at Peggy, frowning.  She turned back to him.  “Are you going to midnight mass, Steven?  I know your mother always made it a priority.”

 

“Of course, ma’am,” Steve replied.  He wasn’t the most devout of Catholics, but midnight mass and Easter Sunday service were absolute requirements.

 

Mrs. Barnes smiled again.  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said.  She frowned at Peggy again.  “I’m glad your ... _distractions_ aren’t getting in the way of your duties.”  With that, she turned and walked away.

 

Peggy reached over and patted his leg.  “I’m so flattered you’re risking your eternal soul by being with me, Steven,” she said quietly.

 

Steve snorted.  Not that he thought Peggy was any threat to his soul - she was one of the best people he’d ever known.  But even if she was leading him astray, he’d still be with her.  He couldn’t not.  He leaned closer.  “Go with me.”

 

She looked at him and frowned.  “One of the perks of being a heathen is not having to go to church in the middle of the night.”

 

“C’mon,” he cajoled, bumping his shoulder lightly into hers.

 

Frowning, she stood up.  Steve followed and they both took their plates into the kitchen.  Groups were shifting around and now most of the older ladies were in the kitchen.  Steve got out of there as fast as he could.  The neighborhood men had moved into the living room, so Steve grabbed both his and Peggy’s coats and he pulled her outside.

 

More people had shown up.  There were probably three dozen neighborhood kids milling around on the walkway outside Bucky’s apartment.  They were all talking and passing around flasks of the infamous Christmas punch.  Martha slipped a flask to Peggy, who took a long pull before handing it to Steve, who did the same.  He coughed.  Jesus, Bucky’s ma usually didn’t go light on the booze, but holy hell she’d poured liberally tonight.

 

They stood outside for a long time, chasing away the cold with Christmas punch and occasional kisses.  Steve backed Peggy against the railing.  Her hands were in his back pockets, her breath warm against his ear.  “C’mon,” Steve said again.  “Go with me tonight.”

 

She looked at him and sighed.  “Alright,” she said.  “I’ll go.  But now you’re going to have to wait for your Christmas present.”

 

He looked at her.  “Whadya get me?”  He truly had no idea.  She was broker than him and unless he’d really missed some hidden talent of hers, she was crap at most handicrafts.

 

She smiled wickedly, leaning in toward him and whispering in his ear.  “It’s not exactly for you,” she said.  “It’s for me, but you’ll like it.”

 

He pulled back and looked at her, unsurprised at this turn of events.  “You got yourself a Christmas present, but it’s for me?” he asked skeptically.

 

She pushed him away, so there was room between their bodies.  She looked around.  While they certainly didn’t have privacy, everyone was getting fairly sloshed and no one was paying any attention to them.  She inched up the hem of her skirt to mid thigh where Steve could see the tops of a new pair of stockings and garter belt.  “I got ‘em on sale,” she said.  “I’ve been saving them.”

 

He swallowed thickly.  “Uh, so maybe we could skip mass.”

 

“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head as she lowered her skirt.  “We’re going to mass.  We wouldn’t want to endanger your soul more than it already is.  Especially with fornication.”

 

“Peggy,” he whined, pressing in against her.

 

She bit down on her bottom lip at the feel of him, but her jaw was set and Steve knew her resolve was unshakeable.  They were going to midnight mass.  Dammit.

 

* * *

By the time they got a seat in the Cathedral, Steve’s amorous intentions were gone, replaced with a somber melancholy.  The Cathedral was packed as usual, standing room only, but Bucky’s sisters had saved them seats.  This was the first year anyone had to save Steve a seat.  Usually, he was here several hours early to make sure they had a place.  But this was the first year Steve was attending without his mother.  It had always been very important to her, and Steve kept that in mind as they sat down.

 

The ceremony was long.  And in Latin.  Steve considered apologizing to Peggy, but he figured after sitting through his ma’s funeral a few short weeks earlier, she sort of knew what to expect.  Though when Bucky’s mother helpfully leaned over during the service and reminded Peggy that only confirmed Catholics could take communion, Steve thought Peggy might bolt.  Instead, she smiled sweetly at Mrs. Barnes and nodded.

 

Smile still firmly in place, she spoke through her teeth.  “Understand how much I’m doing for you.”

 

He nodded, clasping her hand.

 

After mass, they all walked back home, a pack of them, Bucky’s whole family, plus Steve and Peggy and the Rosses and Millers and their dozen kids.  As they started to part company, Bucky’s ma pulled him close.  “Merry Christmas, Steven,” she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek.  He nodded and smiled, grateful for her concern.  

 

He turned, his hand at the small of Peggy’s back as he ushered her toward the building where they both lived.  He didn’t look back to see if Bucky’s ma was glaring daggers at Peg’s back, but he assumed she probably was.  He figured his mother would approve.

 

They stopped at Peggy’s apartment and she ran inside, leaving Steve out on the walkway, stamping his feet to try and keep warm.  She was back in only a few moments, carrying a small bag.  “Was your dad still awake?” he asked.

 

She nodded, pulling him toward his apartment.  “He’s working on his book.”

 

Steve didn’t say anything.  Mr. Carter gave Peggy a lot of freedom, and he let her dictate her own life.  But Steve suspected he still worried far more than he let on.  Steve knew Mr. Carter had waited up for Peggy.  It was Christmas eve - well, Christmas Day now technically.  Even for heathens, that was sort of a big deal.

 

Peggy opened the door with her own key and pulled him inside.  She immediately pushed him back against the door and kissed him, but it was more loving than lustful.  They stood there for a long time, holding onto one another, both still bundled in their coats.  Peggy pressed her frozen nose to the hollow under his ear and he shivered, but pulled her closer.

 

Finally, Peggy pulled away and pointed toward the bathroom.  “I’m going to go change,” she said.  She pushed him toward the bedroom.  “You go warm up the covers so they aren’t ice cold.”

 

Steve nodded.  Dutifully, he undressed and crawled under the covers which were, indeed, ice cold.  He lay there and shivered for several minutes before he warmed up enough to be still.  He was starting to nod off when Peggy finally walked into the bedroom.  She was still wearing her coat.  He frowned.  Had she changed her mind about staying the night?

 

She looked at him and opened the coat.  Steve swallowed audibly.  She was wearing the new stockings and garter belt - and nothing else.  She let the coat slide off her arms and onto the floor.  Steve pulled back the covers.

 

* * *

Steve blinked awake to a gray morning light filtering through the windows.  Christmas morning.  He rolled over and spooned against Peggy’s back, smiling as he pressed his face to the nape of her neck.  She sighed, stretching, pushing back against him.

 

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

 

She rolled over, smiling at him and kissed him.  “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

 

* * *

** Present Day **

 

Peggy joined the throngs of latecomers, crowding into the back of the small cathedral in a blatant violation of fire code.  The smell of St. James hit her and she was swamped with memories of a life forgotten, her hand clasped inside Steve’s, his features so stoic.  She blinked quickly, pushing away the memories.  But not too far.  They were, after all, why she was here.  She was not Catholic.  She gave a fleeting thought to Bucky’s mother, and how eager Mrs. Barnes would have been to remind her of that fact.

 

She shrugged out of her coat and draped it over her arm.  But she kept the scarf wrapped around her head.  Not the greatest disguise ever devised, but she doubted many of the parishioners were expecting to see Captain America at their midnight mass service.  Especially not at St. James, when St. Joseph was arguably the more stately of Brooklyn’s cathedrals.  

 

But St. James was where she had come with Steve, so St. James it was.  At least, she told herself, the liturgy was in English now.  This was a tradition, of sorts, started after she thought she lost him.  She came here, in 1944.  Then again every year since Fury found her.  She had debated, this year, and ultimately decided to keep with tradition, especially since she hadn’t seen him in weeks.

 

It was shortly after communion, and the accompanying shifting of bodies, that she noticed him.  He violated her personal space with a casualness that would have annoyed her if it didn’t make her so damn grateful.  She leaned back against him and his hands rested lightly at her hips.  There was nothing sexual in his touch, but it was possessive, like he had every right to touch her, and she supposed he did.  The church was so crowded, she doubted anyone gave them a second glance.  Just another couple.  

 

Mass ended and they walked outside, her hand clasped tightly around his wrist, pulling him along.  Since he’d gone to the trouble of finding her, she rather doubted he intended to disappear, but she wasn’t taking any chances.  Not tonight.

 

Halfway down the block, she looped her arm through his, leaning heavily against him as they walked.  He didn’t say anything.  He often didn’t.  The nervous energy that used to compel him to keep up a constant stream of chatter was gone, lost to the ravages of time.  He could be so still now, it was unnerving.  She had no idea where he’d been the last couple of weeks.

 

He’d ridden his bike and she climbed on the back, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle, burying her face against the back of his leather jacket for the duration of the bitterly cold ride back to her place.  He didn’t have an apartment, here or anywhere else.  He was a nomad, bouncing from job to job.  She would come home every couple of weeks to find him asleep on her couch or in her bed, with no warning.  He’d stay for a day, or a month, as long he could before something pulled him away.  

 

They still hadn’t had any kind of conversation about what, exactly, they were to one another.  That much, she supposed, was unsurprising.  Just like when they were kids.  They were together.  With no discussion of the future, or what it might mean.  Except that they weren’t kids anymore.  And she was getting tired of acting like they were.

 

It wasn’t that she couldn’t wrest a commitment from him.  If she told him she would like him to be at an appointed place at an appointed time, he would be there.  But he didn’t seem to see much value in planning.  She loved him.  She knew he loved her.  They were the only home the other had left.  And now that they’d found one another, they didn’t like to be apart.

 

They climbed up the fire escape and crawled through the window into the apartment.  Peggy fumbled around in the dark until she found the plug for the lights and she plugged in the tree.  Steve blinked at the tree suspiciously and she rolled her eyes.  

 

“There’s nog in the fridge,” she said.  She hated the stuff, but Steve loved it.  He shrugged out of his coat tossing it into one of the chairs and grabbed the carton from the fridge.  Peggy sat down on the couch, looking at the tree.  He joined her, opening the carton and downing half of it in a series of gulps.  

 

“Do you at least want some bourbon with that?” she asked.

 

He shook his head, continuing to gulp the stuff.  Sighing, she rested her head against the arm of the couch.  He finally set the empty carton on the coffee table and slouched back against the cushions, pulling her feet into his lap as he eyed the tree.  

 

“Hi,” she said, looking at him.

 

“Hi,” he replied.

 

“Oh good,” she said, “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten how to speak.”

 

He narrowed his gaze at her and moved, pulling her down on the couch so she was stretched out on her back and he lay on his side next to her, nuzzling at the sensitive hollow beneath her ear.  “What do you want to talk about?” he asked.

 

She made a noncommittal sound, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.  She pulled back, making a face.  “You taste like nog.”

 

“You know you like it,” he replied, kissing her again.

 

She kissed him back for several minutes before pulling back again.  “I don’t, actually,” she said.

 

“Want me to stop?” he asked, kissing down her neck.

 

“I didn’t say that,” she replied as haughtily as she could, which wasn’t very.

 

He shook his head at her, laughing and abruptly stood up.  He scooped her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.  They dispensed with their clothes quickly and fell into the bed together.  She was laying on her back and he was on his side next to her, leaning over her.

 

She had missed him, more than usual.  It was the time of the year, she suspected.  She knew it made people feel lonely and the holiday had always been particularly bittersweet for them.  For weeks, she had wondered where he was, what he was doing out there by himself.  She had friends and acquaintances.  It wasn’t like she lived a solitary existence.  But even the camaraderie she felt with her teammates couldn’t begin to match the sense of belonging she felt with Steve.  She literally couldn’t remember a time before she knew him, before he was a constant at her side.  And yet, no one in her life knew they were together.

 

“Hey,” he said with mock severity, biting her shoulder, “what’s going on over there?”

 

“Thinking about you,” she said blandly.  It was completely true.

 

He narrowed his gaze at her and pulled back, watching her.  “You look sad.  Do I make you sad?”

 

She shook her head and ran her fingers through his hair.  He pushed into her touch like a cat.  “I missed you is all,” she said.

 

He kissed her again, hard.  “I missed you too, Peg.”

 

She ended the kiss and sighed, looking at him.  “What would you do if I told you I was pregnant?”

 

He blinked at her.  “Are you?”

 

“No.”

 

He blinked again.  “Then that would be pretty weird if you told me that.”

 

“That’s not what I mean,” she said, frowning.  She sighed and rolled onto her side, giving him her back.

 

He was perfectly still for several moments before he sat up.  She could feel him looking at her.  “You’re mad.”

 

“I found Bucky’s son,” she said quietly, staring at the wall.

 

“What’re you talking about?” he asked, obviously frustrated.  He sounded like he had a headache.

 

“Ivy,” she said quietly, rolling onto her back and looking at him.  “That high school girl.  The one he got in trouble, you know, right before that last Christmas we had in Brooklyn.”

 

Steve groaned and scrubbed his hand across his head.  “Ivy,” he said, shaking his head.  “Man, I forgot about her.”  He looked sort of pained and Peggy wondered how much of his forgetfulness was time and how much was the things that had been done to him.  How many pieces of him did they destroy trying to turn him into a weapon?

 

“She had a son,” Peggy said.  “She gave him up.  He was adopted by a couple from Chicago.  He lives in Michigan now.  Has two kids and a bunch of grandkids.  One of the grandsons looks just like Buck.”

 

Steve watched her for several long moments.  “Why’d you track him down?”

 

She shook her head, frowning.  “I just wondered.”

 

“Wondered what?”

 

She shrugged.  “What our lives might have been like if it weren’t for the war and Erskine and all of it.”

 

“Well, we’d probably be dead from old age,” he said bluntly.  “So there’s that happy thought.”

 

She glared at him and he had the decency to look chagrined.  “Would you have ever admitted you wanted me?” she asked.  “Or would you have politely watched while I built a life with someone else?”

 

He took a deep breath.  “You realize there is absolutely no way I can answer that question, right?” he said.  “Because that’s not how things happened.  There was a war.  And we did meet Erskine.  And seventy years later, we’re both still here.  So I can’t tell you what skinny Steve might have done because I don’t know.”

 

“That’s a copout.”

 

“It’s not a copout,” he snapped.  “It’s the truth.  I can tell you _what I did do_ ,” he said, clearly irritated.  “And it didn’t involve sitting around watching you with some other guy.”

 

“No,” she said sourly, “it involved screwing me in my bunk after hours and in tents in the field and the occasional barn, and now my couch and my bed and my shower.”

 

“Are you pissed that I don’t ever take you anywhere nice?” he asked incredulously.  “Because we were just at church, like half an hour ago.  And last time I checked, you were screwing me every bit as much as I was screwing you.”

 

“Oh, fuck it,” she said, rolling away from him again.  She did, on some level, understand the perversity of her actions.  She was so afraid to lose him again, so irritated at his habitual refusal to make a solid commitment, that she was pushing him away.

 

“Do you think I don’t love you?” he asked quietly.

 

“I know you love me,” she snapped.

 

He cursed under his breath and flopped down on the bed, taking no care to avoid disturbing her as he arranged himself with his back to her and pulled the covers up to his ears.  He then kicked the blankets off his feet, uncovering hers in the process.

 

“Asshole,” she spat, elbowing him in the kidney as she covered her feet again, and his.

 

He waited a minute and then kicked the covers off again.

 

“I swear to God, Steven,” she yelled, spinning around and lunging for him.  He was quicker and caught her hands, pinning her to the bed on her back.  He kissed her and she kissed him back, wrapping her legs around his waist.

 

* * *

 

A long while later, they were both quiet.  He was laying on his back and she was curled against his side with her head pillowed on his chest.  He picked up her hand and kissed the top of each of her fingers in turn before he pressed his palm against hers, measuring them.

 

“I want you to move in, like really move in,” she said.

 

“Okay,” he said cautiously.  “Are you pissed that I’ve been mooching off you? Cuz I can give you money for rent.”

 

“I’m pissed that you seem perfectly content to keep things so goddamn casual,” she said.  “We’re too fucking old for casual.”

 

He shook his head.  “What about our relationship could possibly be considered casual?”  He pushed himself up on his elbow, looking down at her.  “I’m not seeing anybody.  Are you seeing anybody?”  He paused.  “No, really.  Are you seeing someone?”

 

“I don’t fucking believe you,” she swore, smacking him in the chest.  “Of course I’m not seeing anybody else.”

 

He seemed mollified, but still confused.  “What do you want?” he asked seriously.

 

“What I want, is what I’ve always wanted, Steve,” she said seriously.  “I want to know that you want to be with me.”

 

He frowned down at her and she was pretty sure his head did actually hurt now.

 

She sighed.  “You ... come and go, in my life,” she said.  “And honestly, it’s not like I’m looking to get married and start reproducing.  But every now and then it would be nice to be able to tell someone I have a boyfriend.”

 

“A _boyfriend_ ,” he repeated, frowning.  He screwed his eyes shut and then slowly opened them, looking at her again.  “Okay, so devil’s advocate,” he said.  “One interpretation of events, _your_ interpretation, is that I’m super casual about our relationship and I have ... some reservation about being your boyfriend.”

 

She looked at him, eyebrows raised.  “Yeah.”

 

“Okay, so let’s try another interpretation of events. _Mine_ this time.”

 

“Fine,” she said.  “Whatever.”

 

He looked at her intently.  “You are my entire world, Peggy.  You’ve _always_ been my entire world.  There was never been a moment in my life when my feelings towards you were casual.  And now, especially, you are my only touchstone.  You are my only constant.  So, while I’m not crazy about the boyfriend label - it feels a little inadequate - I don’t have any reservations about being committed to you.  I’ve been committed to you since I was thirteen.”

 

She looked at him, eyes wide.  “ _Oh_.”

 

He arched an eyebrow at her.  “You’re kiddin’ me.   _Oh_.  I get ... _oh_.”

 

“I -” she said and stopped.  She reached out, pressing her palm against his jaw.  “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

 

“Obviously,” he said, frowning, though she felt like he was just milking it at this point.

 

She pulled him down for a kiss and he obliged eagerly.  They eventually pulled apart and she rolled onto her side so he could curl around her.  She burrowed against both him and the pillow, making herself comfortable.

 

“Your Christmas present is going to be a little late,” he said.  “It’s supposed to get here on Tuesday.”

 

She frowned.  “What is it?”

 

“Well,” he said, “it’s actually for me, but you’ll like it too.”

 

She immediately got the reference and elbowed him in the kidney again.  He grunted, but then laughed.  “It’s a TV.  You’ll like it.  I’ll let you use the remote if you’re good.”

 

“Smartass,” she said, but she smiled as she did so.

 

He pulled her closer.  “Merry Christmas, Peg.”

 

“Merry Christmas.”

 

END STORY


	11. Peggy Vs. Steve's new TV

**Present Day**

Steve loved that goddamn TV.  After their discussion at Christmas, he moved in.  (And the TV was delivered, as he promised.)  Peggy supposed there was an element of being careful what one asked for.  She wanted a commitment from Steve.  She wanted him to move in.  

So he did.

Peggy hadn’t been aware of any preconceived notions she had about her lover moving in, but apparently she had some.  Because the reality of the situation left her a little cold.  She wasn’t sure why.  It wasn’t like she’d expected butterflies in her stomach, or some sort of honeymoon-esque bliss.  But the truth was, Steve moving in with her changed almost nothing in her daily life.

They’d known each other for decades.  They’d been lovers longer than any of Peggy’s teammates had been alive (except Thor).  They’d lived together, off and on, for years, since they were in their teens.  So it seemed reasonable that him moving in would be a non-event.  But the fact that it had actually been a non-event left her a little put out.

And then there was that goddamn TV.

Steve loved that goddamn TV.

She’d hidden the remote twice, and he found it both times.  Clearly, he had no problem committing to either her or the TV.

Peggy was sick of feeling like she was in competition with the idiot box.  “Have you seen my book?” she asked.

There was no reply.

“Steve!”

A grunt.

“Have you seen my book?”

“It’s on the floor in front of the TV,” he said.

He was sitting in the corner of the couch, one knee drawn up as he watched the football game in 55” Ultra HD.  It was obscene.  It took up half the room.  And he was watching American football.  She hated it.  She had no idea he even followed football until he got that damn TV.  Now, every Sunday she could dutifully find him perched on the couch, remote in hand.

She walked past him, her short skirt swishing as she moved.  She stood directly between him and the TV and slowly bent over to pick up her book.  The skirt was short and she knew that it didn’t even begin to cover her ass when she bent over like this.  And beneath the skirt, she was wearing a garter belt and a pair of seamed stockings.  

And nothing else.

She grabbed the book and slowly stood up, walking back to the bedroom.  As she walked around the corner of the couch, he was right behind her.  He was half a step behind her the entire way to the bedroom.  She tossed the book onto the nightstand.  “I thought you were watching the game,” she said casually, turning to look at him.

“Not anymore,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head and shucking his jeans and shorts down his legs.

She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her skirt and he immediately closed the distance, his hands circling her wrists.  

“No,” he said, shaking his head.  “Leave it on."

END FICLET


End file.
